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196
IV.—FROM THE CLIFFS OF BALTARD.
Across the heaving ocean's billowy flow,Lie paths of gold that deepen into red:
The west is bright: black storm-clouds overhead
Give a strange sweetness to the evening glow.
The swell of the Atlantic breaks below,
With thunderous resonance: long lines of white
Tell where the iron coast beats back the might
Of stormy seas:—dark headlands fringed with snow—
From blue Loophead to Arran's sunken strand—
Deep gloomy precipice-encircled bays,
Sheer craggy islets, flats of whitened sand,
Are all scarce dimmed by veils of purpling haze:
While somewhere in the glory of the west
Lie the enchanted islands of the blest.
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