 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
3
St. DAVID'S HEAD.
People these wilds: the Sea-King, just ashore,Is camp'd upon that black and craggy steep;
And, while his rude bark rocks upon the deep,
Glares vulture-like the victim-region o'er:
And the barbarian tribe is soon astir,
And celts and swords are gilt with rival gore;
While Druids three, like Moses, Aaron, and Hur,
Beside their cromlech, with bare arms uprear'd,
Stand on Carn Llyddi, where the logan stone
And serpent avenues and circles weird
Are red with blood: three thousand years are gone,
And here our happier feet those tracks explore,
Only to hunt for ferns or crystals now
That wave and glitter on St. David's brow.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |