Madoc

Fair blows the wind . . . the vessel drives along,Her streamers fluttering at their length, her sailsAll full; she drives along, and round her prowScatters the ocean-spray. What feelings thenFilled every bosom, when the mariners,After the peril of that weary way,Beheld their own dear country! Here stands oneStretching his sight toward the distant shore;And, as to well-known forms his busy joyShapes the dim outline, eagerly he pointsThe fancied headland, and the cape and bay,Till his eyes ache o'erstraining. This man shakesHis comrade's hand, and bids him welcome home,And blesses God, and then he weeps aloud:Here stands another, who, in secret prayer,Calls on the Virgin, and his patron Saint,Renewing his old vows of gifts and almsAnd pilgrimage, so he may find all well.Silent and thoughtful, and apart from all,Stood Madoc; now his noble enterprizeProudly remembering, now in dreams of hope,Anon of bodings full, and doubt and fear.Fair smiled the evening, and the favoring galeSung in the…