Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's
lonely height, Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's
crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's
stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the
boundless plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln
sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale
of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt' s
embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers
of Carlisle.
LXXXVI THE LAST BUCCANEER
THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,
The sky was black and drear,
When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name
Alongside the last Buccaneer.
'Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,
When all others drive bare on the seas? Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees? '
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