"The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also,
'Ah, youth,' quoth he, 'is rash;
Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out
From the sea that doth it lash.'"
Brave Winstanley however, was resolved to try, and after tedious waiting, he commenced to work:—
"Then he and the sea began their strife,
And worked with power and might,
Whatever the men reared up by day,
The sea broke down by night.
"In fine weather, and foul weather,
The rock his arts did flout,
Through the long days, and the short days,
Till all that year ran out.
"With fine weather, and foul weather,
Another year came in:
'To take his wage,' the workmen said,
'We almost count a sin!'"
They kept on, however, and at last, some sailors who returned told a wonderful tale of a house they had seen built in the sea:—
"Then sighed the folk, 'The Lord be praised!'
And they flocked to the shore amain;
All over the Hoe, the livelong night,
Many stood out in the rain.
"It ceased, and the red sun reared his head,
And the rolling fog did flee;
And lo! in the offing faint and far,
Winstanley's house at sea!
"In fair weather, with mirth and cheer,
The stately tower uprose;
In foul weather, with hunger and cold,
They were content to close;
"Till up the stair Winstanley went,
To fire the wick afar;
And Plymouth, in the silent night,
Looked out and saw her star.