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88

WOLFE OF THE KNOLL.

Still hoarse with chafing all the night, though now no wind
    was free.
A child's swift foot that blind pursued the eye's more dis-
    tant aim,
Struck sharply on an iron ring that well might wonder
    claim.
That child was Melleff, still the first when Fortune smiled
    or frowned,
And ever for adventure strange o'er all the isle renowned.
They dug, and lo ! a heavy box, strong and of curious form,
Was lifted from the solid drift packed round it by the
    storm.
They climbed the downs, and every shoal searched with a
    careful eye,
Even to the horizon's utmost verge, where wrecks were wont
    to lie.
Canvas nor mast nor hulk were there, and wasting rust told
    plain
That long upon the lonely beach that ancient chest had
    lain.