Then, spurring through the rushes grey,
Cried WILLIAM, "Sirs, away, away!
For where she hovers is the prey,
And where she falls I follow."
Her marbled plume with crimson dight,
Seaward she soared, and bent her flight
Above the ridge of foaming white
Along the harbour hollow;
Then, looking grimly toward the strait,
Said WILLIAM, "Truly, soon or late,