VII.
Ay, well do I remember
The morning stormy-bright
That dawn of wild September,
As through the breakers white
We rowed the brave boat laden
With man and babe and maiden,
While o'er the sandy spaces,
The dawn-beams on their faces,
Looked out with straining sight
The crowd that there had waited,
Each heart with anguish freighted,
As slow the storm abated
Along the Brittas strand;
And how they cheered us, rending
The winds, as slow ascending,
Beneath our burthens bending,
We waded to the land;