CHAPTER VIII. A NIGHT ON THE GOODWIN SANDS.
"God help the poor fellows at sea!"
Far away inland, when tempests blow
Wild through the dark'ning night,
We list to the roar of the winds as they go
On their hurricane steeds to the fight;
For the hosts of the storm-king are gathering fast
Where the white-crested waters flee,
And our heart breathes this prayer, as he rushes past,