They come, they mount, they charge in vain,
Thus far, incalculable main!
No more! thine hosts have not o’erthrown
The lichen on the barrier stone!
Have the rocks faith, that thus they stand
Unmoved, a grim and stately band,
And look, like warriors tried and brave,
Stern, silent, reckless, o’er the wave?
Have the proud billows thought and life
To feel the glory of the strife,
And trust one day, in battle bold,
To win the foeman’s haughty hold?
Mark, where they writhe with pride and shame,
Fierce valour, and the zeal of fame;
Hear how their din of madness raves,
The baffled army of the waves!
Thy way, O God! is in the sea;
Thy paths where awful waters be:
Thy Spirit thrills the conscious stone;
O Lord! Thy footsteps are not known.
BLACK JOHN[55]
“BLACK JOHN”
From a picture formerly belonging to R. S. Hawker, now in the possession of Mrs. Calmady