When his Lucy broke her troth-plight, and he flung down Craigengelt,
Fitting place for actor's study, all that long and lonely shore;
Yonder point methinks as Wolf's Crag should be known for evermore.
Henceforth will the place be haunted when the midnight hour draws nigh:
Men shall see the Master standing stern against the stormy sky.
Faint, impalpable as shadow from the cloudland, Lucy there
Shall keep tryst; the moon's effulgence not more golden than her hair.
And, in coming nights of Autumn, when the vast Lyceum rings
With reverberating plaudits, and the town thy praises sings,
Memories of the sands at Lowestoft shall be with you ere you sleep;