Ranolf and Amohia: a South-Sea day dream

Front matter

RANOLF AND AMOHIA. a RANOLF AND AMOHIA: A SOUTH-SEA HAY- DREAM. r.v ALFRED DOMETT. LONDON : SMITH, ELDER & CO, 15, WATERLOO PLACE. 1872. Kat 17 (Xttk; /UE-yaXr/. Plato : Phædo, 145. CANTO THE FIRST. i. " Glorious ! this life of lake And hill-top ! toil and tug through tangled brake, Dense fern, and smothering broom ; And then such rests as now I take, In sunflecked soft cathedral-gloom Of forests immemorial ! Noble sport Boar-hunting ! yet that furious charge, the last Of the dead monster there had cut it short For me, and once for all, belike, Had not his headlong force impaled The savage on my tough wood-pike That, propped with planted knee and foot, Its butt against a rata-root, From chest to chine right through him passed ; And nought his inch-thick hide availed, [canto I, 2 Or ring-like tusks upthrusting through The notches of his foaming lips, By constant whetting planed away To chisel-sharpness at their tips : It weakened him — the knife-dig, too, He caught when first commenced the fray ; When, as in haste I sprang astride The narrowed gully — just a ditch With flowering koromiko rich — ■ Between my feet the villain drove, And fierce, with short indignant sniffs, And grunts like muttering thunder, strove To gain his haunts beyond the cliffs, And foil the foes he fled from, yet defied.

" But Nim, my glorious bull-dog ! Nim, My mighty hunter of the boar, Who never recked of life or limb That old antagonist before ! That rip has finished his career — His last boar-fight is fought ; no more He'll come to greet me as of yore, Wriggling his lithe spine till his tail Whipped his black muzzle in the excess Of cringing canine happiness ; No more his genuine love express With such dumb signs and tokens clear, Mock bites and mouthings of the hand, Easy as words to understand. Strange, a mere dog should be so dear ! But he is dead, and — done with, must we say ? Poor victim of this universal demon-play Of Life — my fate to-morrow, his to-day, Which I, for sport, have sealed — as God (or no God, then Say you ?) that of his myriad worlds and men ? And ' pluck ' like his, that nought could quail ; Good temper — honest, humble love and truth — These must not live again, forsooth !

No future for the Dog — but why ? Duty, our highest inborn feeling, who Has stronger than this guardian true To death ? or can we in our own rejoice, As sprung from self-determined choice ? That Self with so much bias made — Our will by strongest motive swayed ? Scarce higher than his, our claims, I fear, To merit of our own appear. Then compound, too, not simple, he, A work complete no more than we, (If stuff for hope therein may be), Has not his nature, like our own, Instincts at war, the lower with the high ? With trusts to be fulfilled, obedience shown — The longing for the ramble, game forbidden, Or bone, like miser's treasure, hidden ? And if, instead of eyes that often so With solemn melancholy glow, He had but tongue to speak with, who can show He might not tell of hopes, and dim Perceptions, yearnings, that no longer dumb, He, too, may rise to human, and become Erect some day, a ruler and a lord, And, like his master, loved, adored, A visible God and Providence to him — Though swayed, no doubt, full oft, by rage, caprice and whim, ****** [

Canto I

" Poor wretch ! we read his failings at a glance ; All that in this life hinders his advance. Ungifted to abstract, he can conceive No clear ideal to aim at or achieve ; Ungifted to reflect — himself discern, His depth beneath the ideal could never learn ; Had he both gifts, would want constructive brain, To plan the way the high ideal to gain — Want hands to work with, had he found the way, So in his low estate perforce must stay. " But are our organs that compare — combine — Dispart and spin deductions fine, Creations so exclusively divine, They needs must be preserved compact, By no harsh doom destroyed, dissolved ? When (though we match the Dog in eyes) The precious, last, profoundest prize They palm upon us for a fact, In spite of all those starlit skies, Is in our petty selves to see And what from us (by what decree ?)

Is still evolving and evolved, The highest Being that can be ? — But truce to that preposterous claim — I take it and stand by the same, TJiere is no God much worth the name, What £ er tJieir scale, where'er their seat, Would drop creations, incomplete : Let any force his plans defeat ; The wants he caused, leave unsupplied, Desires he gave unsatisfied I > Better believe all creatures — foul or fair, One universal endless progress share ; In the procession headed by mankind, Only a march or two behind ; Each rank of God's grand army onward bent To higher states and stages — who knows where ? — Of free and fortunate development !" ii. So mused a youngster as he lay at ease, Profaning (must we needs confess ?) With chestnut-glossed pet meerschaum the pure breeze Enjoying in delicious cool no less The mighty shade of old majestic trees, Whose tops the skies beneath our feet immerse, Down in a land, greenwaving, grand, Upon our seeming world-medallion's rich reverse : The ruder Italy laid bare By that keen Searcher of the Seas Whose tempest-battling, never-baffled keel, Left half our planet little to reveal ; But restless roaming everywhere Zigzagged the vast Pacific as he prest With godlike patience his benignant quest ; True hero-god, who realized the notion Its races feign of mythic Maui still, And plucked up with a giant might of will A hundred Islands from Oblivion's ocean !

Sea-king and sage — staunch huntsman of pure Fame, Beating the waste of waters for his game, Untrodden shores or tribes without a name ; That nothing in an island's shape, Mist-muffled peak or faint cloud-cape Might his determined thoughtful glance escape ; No virgin-lands be left unknown, Where future Englands might be sown, And nations noble as his own. in. It was a wondrous realm beguiled Our youth amid its charms to roam ; O'er scenes more fair, serenely wild, Not often summer's glory smiled ; When flecks of cloud, transparent, bright, No alabaster half so white — Hung lightly in a luminous dome Of sapphire — seemed to float and sleep Far in the front of its blue steep ; And almost awful, none the less For its liquescent loveliness, Behind them sunk — just o'er the hill The deep abyss, profound and still — The so immediate Infinite ; That yet emerged, the same, it seemed In hue divine and melting balm, In many a lake whose crystal calm Uncrisped, unwrinkled, scarcely gleamed : Where sky above and lake below Would like one sphere of azure show, Save for the circling belt alone, The softly-painted purple zone Of mountains — bathed where nearer seen In sunny tints of sober green, _ 7 With velvet dark of woods between, All glossy glooms and shifting sheen ; While here and there, some peak of snow Would o'er their tenderer violet lean.

And yet within this region, fair With wealth of waving woods — these glades And glens and lustre-smitten shades, Where trees of tropic beauty rare With graceful spread and ample swell Uprose- — and that strange asphodel On tufts of stiff green bayonet-blades, Great bunches of white bloom upbore, Like blocks of seawashed madrepore, That steeped the noon in fragrance wide, Till by the exceeding sweet opprest The stately tree-fern leaned aside For languor, with its starry crown Of radiating fretted fans, And proudly-springing beauteous crest Of shoots all brown with glistening down, Curved like the lyre-bird's tail half-spread, Or necks opposed of wrangling swans, Red bill to bill — black breast to breast — Aye ! in this realm of seeming rest, What sights you met and sounds of dread !

Calcareous caldrons, deep and large With geysers hissing to their marge ; Sulphureous fumes that spout and blow ; Columns and cones of boiling snow ; And sable lazy-bubbling pools Of sputtering mud that never cools ; With jets of steam through narrow vents Uproaring, maddening to the sky, Like cannon-mouths that shoot on high In unremitting loud discharge Their inexhaustible contents ; While oft beneath the trembling ground Rumbles a drear persistent sound Like ponderous engines infinite, working At some tremendous task below ! — Such are the signs and symptoms — lurking Or launching forth in dread display— Of hidden fires, internal strife, Amid that leafy, lush array Of rank luxuriant verdurous life : Glad haunts above where blissful love Might revel, rove, enraptured dwell ; But through them pierce such tokens fierce Of rage beneath and frenzies fell ; As if, to quench and stifle it, Green Paradise were flung o'er Hell — Flung fresh with all her bowers close-knit, Her dewy vales and dimpled streams : Yet could not so its fury quell But that the old red realm accurst Would still recalcitrate, rebel, Still struggle upward and outburst In scalding fumes, sulphureous steams.

It struck you as you paused to trace The sunny scenery's strange extremes, As if in some divinest face, All heavenly smiles, angelic grace, Your eye at times discerned, despite Sweet looks with innocence elate, Some wan wild spasm of blank affright, Or demon scowl of pent-up hate ; Or some convulsive writhe confess, For all that bloom of beauty bright, An anguish not to be represt. You look — a moment bask in, bless, Its laughing light of happiness ; But look again — what startling throes And fiery pangs of fierce distress The lovely lineaments disclose — How o'er the fascinating features flit The genuine passions of the nether pit ! IV. Loose-clad in careless sailor-guise, But richly robed in that imperial dress Of symmetry and suppleness And sinewy strength that Nature's love supplies, When, at youth's prime, her work, superbly planned Takes the last touches from her Artist-hand, Was he who rested in a forest near Calm Rotorua's ferny strand.

To him was not denied, 'twas clear, That best of boons at her command — A joyous spirit sparkling like the day, Set in well-tempered, finely-fashioned clay. His fair complexion, slightly tanned By central suns' and oceans' glare ; His eyes' gray gleams and amber hair, Were such as brighten best where gloom and cold And sombre clouds harsh northern skies enfold : But curling locks and lip, and glance Keen for all beauty everywhere ; i. The straight harmonious features — though perchance Squarer than pure proportion asked, in cheek And brow, more thought and firmness to bespeak — Of southern fervor and quick feeling told. His love of the mysterious — vast — whate'er Of solemn and sublime could bear The soul aloft on wings of thrilling awe ; The restless daring that his reason led To question all he heard and read ; The senses potent to divine the springs Of pleasure in a thousand things, Seemed from each clime some elements to draw — Like Gothic metal run in Grecian mould.

In active body — vigorous mind, Such seeming contrasts he combined ; Still, in his face whate'er expressions shone, And to what moods soever he was prone, — 'Twas hardy gladness by strong will controlled — A summer torrent bounding on incessant Through rampart layers of glittering stone, Seemed the habitual and abiding one. Blithe Hope upon his forehead bold Sate like a sunbeam on a gilt mosque-crescent ; And oft, in reverie, if he gazed apart, His eye would kindle as in admiration Of some past scene to fancy present, Or glory glowing in the future distance ; As if one breaking morn of gold Were round Life's whole horizon rolled ; As if his pulse beat music, and his heart Clashed cymbal-bursts of exultation In the mere rapture of existence. A moliia.

CANTO I.

] 11 ■? v. A shriek within the covert near, A second, third, assailed his ear ; Straight for the sound at once he dashed ; Through tangled boughs and brushwood crashed And lopped and slashed the tangles black Of looped and shining supplejack, Till on a startling scene he came, That filled his soul with rage and shame. Her mantle flung upon the ground, Her graceful arms behind her bound, With shoulders bare, dishevelled hair, There stood a Maiden of the land, More stately fair than could elsewhere Through all its ample range be found. Two of his comrades, hired amid The tribes whose chieftains held command O'er all the vales those mountains hid — Those western mountains forest-crowned — Wild striplings, who, uncurbed from birth, Deemed foulest wrong but food for mirth, So that their listless life it stirred, Were basely busy on each hand, With flax-blades binding to a tree The Maid who strove her limbs to free.

They knew her — for they oft had heard Of that surpassing form and face ; They knew the hate, concealed or shown, Between her people and their own ; The feuds, when open war would cease, That smouldered in precarious peace ; They knew the track by which the chase Had lured them to that lonely place, Was so unused, so tangled, rough, They doubtless would have time enough, And might without pursuit retrace Their steps through mountain-woods, so dense, No wrong would be suspected thence, No outrage dreamt of; so they thought — If such a thoughtless impulse wild Of mischief can a thought be styled — They fancied, when the Maid they caught At that secluded spot, alone, With one slave-girl (who shrieking fled, While after her a third accomplice sped, Lest she the alarm too soon should spread) It was a chance to win a name, Through all the tribe some facile fame — Let but their foreign friend agree, If such a captive to their chief they led, At his behest, dispose, to be.

VI. Not more incensed — scarce lovelier in her wrath — The silver-bow'd snow-Goddess seen By rapt Actæon at her awful bath ; Not prouder looked — scarce fiercer in her pride, The yellow-haired Icenian Queen, Stung by the tortures she defied — Than did that flaxen-kilted Maid — <t A warmer Dian — at her russet rise, Dun-shining through autumnal mist ; A young Boadicea sunnier skies Had into browner beauty kissed. So flashed her eyes with scorn and ire, They seemed, as deep in purple shade The slanting sunbeams left the wood And gloomy yew whereby she stood, Two glowing gems of hazel fire : And though a single sparkling tear — Upon each lower eyelid checked, Whose thick silk fringe, a coalblack streak, So darkly decked her flushing cheek In mellow contrast to its clear Rich almond brown — alone confest Some softer feelings lurked among The passions that her bosom wrung ; Yet indignation's withering flame So towered and triumphed o'er the rest, Did so enkindle and inform Her heaving breast, her writhing frame, Just then, you would almost have deemed, Her very tresses as they streamed, With lightnings from that inner storm, And not with flecks of sunset, gleamed.

Slaves I" she was saying : " this to me! Me, Amohia !■ Know you not The daughter of the ' Wailing Sea ? ' Is Tangi-moan a forgot ? When lie shall tJiis vile outrage know, Your Jwmes shall blase, your hearts' -blood flow ; A life for every hair shall pay Of /ter you've dared insult this day I" Swift to her aid our Wanderer sprung, Aside those ruffians roughly flung ; Cut, tore away, the bonds that laced Those tender arms, that slender waist; Reproached, rebuked with sarcasm strong The culprits for their coward wrong ; The Maid with soothing words addrest — Regret and deep disgust expressed At what disturbed her — so distress ; By every gesture, look, declared How much her grief and pain he shared ; Urged all that might with most effect Her anger stay, her grief allay, And smooth her ruffled self-respect.

And if, while thus the Maid he freed With eager haste, and soon replaced Her mantle, tagged with sable cords Of silky flax in simple taste, He could not choose but interfuse Some looks amid his cheering words, Keen admiration's natural meed To one with so much beauty graced ; Think you, this stranger's form and mien Could fail to make their influence felt ; Unconscious though she might have been Of their magnetic power to melt, Pierce, permeate her spirit's gloom, And all her brightening breast illume, Till docile, ductile, it became To his persuasive voice's sway — Mild breathings of discretion, reason's claim ; ■3 As on a summer day The silent sunbeams sink into and fill A snowy cloud, and make it lighter still For gentlest breeze to bear away ? And pleased was he, surprised to mark How swiftly vanished every trace Of passion so tempestuous, dark ; Its shadow floating off a face Where, sooth to say, at any time It seemed as alien, out of place, As some great prey-bird's, haply seen, Not mid the awful regions where he breeds, Sky-sweeping mountains, towering peaks sublime.

But in a land with daisied lawns and meads And rippling seas of poppied corn serene. VII. And all her story soon was told ; How she had left Mokoia's isle That central in the lake alone Rose high — a bristling mountain-hold, With fort and fosse — a dark green boss On that bright shield of azure-stone — Had left the isle, the time to while With one companion in her light canoe ; While in a larger came a fisher-crew She wiselier should have kept in view ; But they two of the sport had soon Grown weary in the glaring noon ; So landed, from the sun's attacks Their splendour-puckered eyebrows to relax In the refreshing grateful shade A clump of trees not distant made ; Thence to a spot amid the level hills Of Rangikihu, where a hotspring fills, Near a deserted settlement, A square stone-tank ('twas Miroa's whim), they went To boil some sweet roots which they found As they expected in a patch Of old abandoned garden-ground : That done, they strolled the forest through, And strolled to little purpose too ; Had tried a parrot for a pet to catch In vain ; had seen, by marshy glade Or woodside brake, look where they might, No tangle of convolvulus to twine Into rich coronals of cups aglow With deep rose-purple or delicate white Pink-flushed as sunset-tinted snow ; No clematis, so lovely in decline, Whose star-flowers when they cease to shine Fade into feathery wreaths silk-bright And silvery-curled, as beauteous.

And they knew The early season could not yet Have ripened the alectryon's beads of jet, Each on its scarlet strawberry set, Whence sweet cosmetic oils they press Their glittering blue-black hair to dress Or give the skin its velvet suppleness : So they had loitered objectless, And chaunting songs or chatting strayed Till by his rude associates met. Her simple story told, the Maid Asked in her turn the Wanderer's name ; > Tried to pronounce it too — but still,. With pretty looks of mock distress And scorn at her own want of skill, And tempting twisting lips, no stain Of tattoo had turned azure — found " Ranolf" too strange and harsh a sound For her harmonious speech to frame ; So after various efforts vain " Ranoro " it at last became, The nearest imitation plain Her liquid accents could attain.

Thus, when at length they reached the shore. Had found and freed and comforted The damsel who at first had fled (Poor little Miroa, weeping sore), And launched the small canoe once more, 'Twas with a farewell kind and gay She bade the stranger " Go his way;" 'Twas with her radiant ready smile She started for the mountain-isle, Which then, one mass of greenish gold, Shone out in sharp relief and bold Against the further hills that lay In solemn violet-gloom — grim, dark and cold. vm. So towards his tent his steps he bent ; Nor marvel if as home he went His thoughts to her would still recur : — " — But Amohia ! what a glorious creature In every gesture, every feature ! Such melting brilliant eyes ! I swear They cast a shadow from whate'er They rest upon ! I do believe they throw Such shifting circlets of soft light On what she looks at, as a sunbeam weaves On the green darkness of the noonday woods, Through chinks in the transparent leaves !

And then her hair ! to see it but unbound ! Such black abundant floods Of tresses making midnight all around For those twin stars to shine through ! while between In glimpses the fair neck was seen Just as at night upon those white And windheaped hummocks of glimmering sand — Thickflowing sand — so finely sifted By the gales whereby 'twas drifted — Soft patches of pale moonlight stand Beside their sable shadows. Then her teeth ! All things that most of whiteness boast How dull and dim beside them ! The far wreath Of snow upon those peaks eternal; The sea-foam creaming round the coast- The wave-bleached shell upon it tost — No, none of these — perhaps the kernel Of a young cocoanut when newly broken Would best their blue-white purity betoken. But what were graces so inviting Without the soul — the spirit's charm That from some well of witchery internal Comes dancing up, delighted and delighting, Comes sparkling through them — bright and warm !

How frank and noble is her face ! And what a sunny pride and sweetness lies In those open brilliant eyes ! _ 19 Her voice chimes like a merry bird's — How winning are her cheerful words ! With what a blithe and stately grace She drew her glistening flaxen mat, With chequered border decked, Into the hollows of her wavy form And stepped away erect ! A maiden of a million that ! " Strange power of Beauty ! in a moment's space It photographs itself upon the brain, And though with limnings soft as light, imprints Burns in, such deep encaustic tints, The finest line, the tenderest stain, No future impress can displace, No wear and tear of Time efface. Amohia. [canto 20 n CANTO THE SECOND. i. But this "Ranoro" — Ranolf — who was he? — Let us a brief while turn aside and see. Sprung from a race of hardy mountaineers — At the remote extreme of Britain's isle, AYhere rugged capes confront the Arctic sky, Now faint beneath the pale and tender smile Of Summer's lingering light that sadly cheers ; Now through rent chasms of the storm-cloud's pile Seen lurking lone in grim obscurity ; Where whirlpools boil, and eddying currents scar The tides that sweeping from the Atlantic far In finest season at their gentlest flow Swarm up a thousand rocks, shoot high in air — Columns of cloud a moment towering clear — Then sink at once plumb-down and disappear, While all the shining rocksides, black and bare, Are streaked with skeiny streams of hurrying snow Like stormers beaten back that headlong go ; — There was he born ; did there his childhood pass Mid wastes of purple moor and green morass.

Canto II

] Ranolf and AmoJiia. 21 His father, last of a long race decayed Of pastoral chiefs, when all their land was gone Had manlike set himself to humbler trade ; And something more than competence had made From calcined kelp, and that free-splitting stone Which in sea depths or silent cliffs, unknown A thousand centuries, unquarried lay Stored up and fashioning for the future beat And ceaseless tramp of busy millions' feet In that enormous World-Mart far away ; But most from fisheries, filling all the bays With ruddy shifting sails in sun or haze, When rippling loud, with myriad gleam and glance And rustling shiver o'er its wide expanse, The liquid mass of seething Ocean seemed Quickened to silvery life that one way streamed. Such sights and sounds inspired the growing Boy With wondering exultation ; and the joy Of deeper thought and loftier feeling lent To the mere gladness of temperament.

But books and fancy and old fishers' tales Of glorious climes beyond these mists and gales Soon made the youngster restless — stirred his blood With impulses resistless, such as drive That insect-dragon scaly-winged to strive And struggle through his chasmed channel's mud, And reckless dash into the splendour-flood, The new wide pool of light he feels and sees ; Such longings, as, when Summer's searching heats Find out the butterflies in their retreats, They yearn with, till, unvexed by any breeze The velvet-winged ones at her sweet command, Sole, or in slow-revolving twos and threes [canto ii Float in a crimson flutter through the land. Thus the Boy fevered till his sire's consent He gained to gratify his natural bent Towards sailor life, and follow o'er the main, Although the favourite son, his brethren twain.

So from his schools, and tasks, and tutors free, Away he went at twelve years old to Sea. ii. But what preceptor like the mighty Ocean To kindle thought and manifold emotion ? Majestic in its every form, Stupendous calm or terror of the storm ; For ever to the dullest sense A symbol of Omnipotence ; Yet like that Oriental notion, That Deity of old devotion, Omnipotence so lightly roused to ire, And fickle as a flame of fire. And with this fierce Sublimity, despite The terrors of its treacherous might, Its ruthless rage or sleek perfidious play, As 'twere with some tremendous beast of prey Half-tamed, the Sailor lives from day to day, Lives cautiously familiar, hour by watchful hour For ever in its presence — in its power. But what a hardy pride his bosom warms The while he runs the gauntlet through the storms, Playing with such a foe in wary strife A match whereof the forfeit is his life, Amohia.

CANTO II.

] 23 > The gain, more than his own, another's pelf; With such apparent odds against himself, The seeming desperation of the game Hardens the coarser soul it cannot tame Into a blind oblivion of the morrow, A stoic mirth that laughs at vice and sorrow ; While he of nobler mind and loftier aim Is nursed by consciousness of danger, still Escaped by foresight or subdued by skill, Into a calm unboastful strength of will, A sober self-reliance, firm and grave ; And feels as o'er vast Ocean's baffled wave Triumphantly he steers from clime to clime Elate with something of its own sublime. And many a vacant hour, on many a theme, Our thoughtful Sea-boy found to muse or dream Those vigils which the sailor needs must keep In the sky-girt seclusion of the Deep ; Oft when the playful billows, lightly curled, Run past the ship, and quiet seems, as sleep, The lone retreat that roams about the world — That white-winged monastery moving still Of rugged celibates against their will ; Or when in darkness, towards her goal unseen, On moonless midnights mournfully serene, She seems, as by some instinct, self-inspired, Still pressing on her eager quest untired ; While, the obscurely-branching clouds between, Crossed stays and braces — silent rocking spars Seem mingling dimly with the dancing stars ; Or when, if steady-breathing trade-winds blow, No shift of sails for days required, the crew [

CANTO II

About the deck their quiet tasks pursue ; The dragging sail with rudely-skilful hands They patch, or splice the rope's stiff-plaited strands, Or twirl with balanced backward steps and slow The whizzing yarn, still pondering as they go The long-drawn tale it types of blended joy and woe ; Or when, her topsails squared, with plunging ease, The ship goes reeling right before the breeze ; And he who has the watch, relaxing now, May lean and mark, with thoughts far elsewhere, how The bowsprit weaves great circles on the sky — Down sinks the deck with all its life — up fly The wide horizon and dark Ocean's plain ; And then the buoyant deck ascends again : While speeding after, ever and anon, A huge blue watery hill comes roaring on, Tiger-like, open-mouthed, in furious chase ; But near the flying stern with slackened pace, And lowered crest, seems first disposed to see What the strange winged Leviathan may be That dares amid these boisterous brawlers stray ; And, fearful the encounter to essay, Falls back in a broad burst of foam, and hissing slinks away.

No lack of change each feeling to employ ! How his eyes widened with a solemn joy When on some witching night The jutting corner of the gibbous Moon — A golden buoy That weltered in a sable sea of cloud (One level mass extending wide, The firmament all bare beside) — Shed an obscure and ominous light, CANTO H.] Ranolf and AmoJiia. 25 And fitful gusts scarce dared to moan aloud : How was the heart-leap of his exultation Sustained — sublimed by thrilled imagination When, if a storm came veiling all the noon, Old Ocean, rising in gigantic play, Marshalled his multitudinous array Of waves tumultuous into ridges gray, And sent them whirling on their headlong way, Host after host of crested cavalry Charging in lines illimitable, urged By trumpet winds whose deafening bray Drowned the sharp hiss of myriad-lancing spray, Into the horrible white gloom profound That gathered, thickened all around !