Of thy unwritten records, faerie Gower,
O'ermounded sepulchre or cromlech grey,
Giddy hill-fortress perch'd above the spray
That beats thy cliffs with unrelenting power,
Or cavern never reach'd by sun or shower, —
One relic, open'd to the eye of day
Out of the wind-swept sand-drift, brings a ray
Of light to gild thy long bedarken'd hour.
Lo, the unburied church on Penmaen downs!
Token of prayer and praise and minist'ring hands,
Of penitence and shrift for lawless bands.
One roof the cross, 'mid the wild dwellings, crowns,
The vesper bell rings softly o'er the sands,
Nor all unblest the realm where Penard frowns.
