| |
| WATCH ye, and ward ye! a ship in sight, | |
| And bearing down for Trebarra Height, | |
| She folds her wings by that rocky strand: | |
| Watch ye, and ward ye, a boat on land! | |
| |
| Hush! for they glide from yonder cave | 5 |
| To greet these strangers of the wave; | |
| Wait! since they pace the seaward glen | |
| With the measured tread of mourning men. | |
| |
| “Hold! masters, hold! ye tarry here, | |
| What corse is laid on your solemn bier? | 10 |
| Yon minster-ground were a calmer grave | |
| Than the roving bark or the weedy wave!” | |
| |
| “Strong vows we made to our sister dead | |
| To hew in fair France her narrow bed; | |
| And her angry ghost will win no rest | 15 |
| If your Cornish earth lie on her breast.” | |
| |
| They rend that pall in the glaring light: | |
| By St. Michael of Carne! ’t was an awful sight! | |
| For those folded hands were meekly laid | |
| On the silent breast of a shrouded maid. | 20 |
| |
| “God speed, my masters, your mournful way! | |
| Go, bury your dead where best ye may: | |
| But the Norroway barks are over the deep, | |
| So we watch and ward from our guarded steep.” | |
| |
| Who comes with weapon? who comes with steed? | 25 |
| Ye may hear far off their clanking speed; | |
| What knight in steel is thundering on? | |
| Ye may know the voice of the grim Sir John. | |
| |
| “Saw ye my daughter, my Gwennah bright, | |
| Borne out for dead at the deep of night?” | 30 |
| “Too late! too late!” cried the warder pale, | |
| “Lo! the full deck, and the rushing sail!” | |
| |
| They have roused that maid from her trance of sleep, | |
| They have spread their sails to the roaring deep; | |
| Watch ye, and ward ye! with wind and tide, | 35 |
| Fitz-Walter hath won his Cornish bride. | |
| |
