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214

WOLFE OF THE KNOLL.

Darting up like tongues of fire,
To his very feet they're clinging !
Yet he heeds them not ; his eye
Through the blinding night he straineth
Toward the perilous road, where lie
Ships, when stormy darkness reigneth.
Lo, through folded clouds the moon
With her silvery arrow pierces,
For a moment glances down,
And the thickest gloom disperses.
Some dark shape upon the tide,
Heaving slow, his vision fancies,
While along its blackened side
Light and free the sea-foam dances.
Dreamer, mocked for many a year,
Oft the broken reed hath thrust thee !
Schooled so sternly, dost thou dare
On a hope so frail to trust thee ?
Yea ! and through that awful night
With this hope his heart o'erfloweth,