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(Excerpt)
HAIL! Ocean-region of the Keltic West, | |
| Where conquering Rome her Finis Terræ found, | |
| Stayed by the haughty waves that gird thy breast; | |
| And where the untravelled Breton still doth bound | |
| His dear familiar world. I look around | 5 |
| With joyful heart from each far-gazing height, | |
| And fondly wake the visions Fame hath crowned, | |
| Which haunt thy winding shores with history bright, | |
| Or bathed in rainbow gleams of legendary light. | |
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| O breezy Headland of Saint-Mathieu! thou | 10 |
| Whose feet are farthest in blue ocean set, | |
| Whose echoing voice is wildest, whose old brow, | |
| With lightning smitten and with salt spray wet, | |
| Looks least on earthly scenes; I love thee yet | |
| Most of the Armoric Capes, and come to blend | 15 |
| Life’s golden hours of rest—too rarely met— | |
| With shadows of thy buried past, and bend | |
| Spiritual eyes afar where unveiled vistas tend. | |
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| Locmazé-Pen-ar-Bed! secluded cell | |
| On the world’s rim remote, but with the name | 20 |
| Of the whole world’s Apostle hallowed; well | |
| I love thee now, when all the west is flame | |
| Before thee, and behind, the city’s fame | |
| Betrayed not in the deepening hush of eve; | |
| Though, ringed by seas no summer calms can tame, | 25 |
| Deep-pulsing, Ouessant and her islets grieve, | |
| And to lone Sizun’s cliffs the gathering storm-clouds cleave. * * * * * | |
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