The chief went down with all his gallant men,
Or whether by the storm and wild sea flood
He perished, or by wilder men of blood—
The shudd’ring Fancy only guess’d his doom,
And Doubt to Sorrow gave but deeper gloom.
An age elapsed—when men were dead or grey,
Whose hearts had mourned him in their youthful day
Fame traced on Mannicōlo’s shore at last
The boiling surge had mounted o’er his mast.
The islesmen told of some surviving men,