88
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.
