An episode: yet with a relish rank Of wild sea places--or of life indeed-- Where yet we find unstirred the secret seed Of song or story marvellous, and thank The sailor for his jest and manners rude. More welcome, too, the old-fashioned fireside, The beach of devils' aprons at low tide, Than scandal bleeding-new, or journal dank. Here did my dreaming childhood, listening, brood On tales of wind and shipwreck; journeyings made Island or inland; peaks at sea descried Shaped like a wave, a table, or a tooth: Old Peter Batte, that should be Pitherbooth, Gibraltar's, or the grim Rock of Visgrade. |