A lighthouse, built with the greatest difficulty, has stood on the rock since 1810.

  No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,—­
  The ship was still as she might be;
  Her sails from heaven received no motion;
  Her keel was steady in the ocean.

  Without either sign or sound of their shock,
  The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
  So little they rose, so little they fell,
  They did not move the Inchcape bell.

  The holy abbot of Aberbrothok
  Had floated that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
  On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,
  And louder and louder its warning rung.

  When the rock was hid by the tempest’s swell,
  The mariners heard the warning bell;
  And then they knew the perilous rock,
  And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok.

  The sun in heaven shone so gay,—­
  All things were joyful on that day;
  The sea-birds screamed as they sported round,
  And there was pleasure in their sound.

  The float of the Inchcape bell was seen,
  A darker speck on the ocean green;
  Sir Ralph, the rover, walked his deck,
  And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

  He felt the cheering power of spring,—­
  It made him whistle, it made him sing;
  His heart was mirthful to excess;
  But the rover’s mirth was wickedness.

  His eye was on the bell and float: 
  Quoth he, “My men, pull out the boat;
  And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
  And I’ll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.”

  The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
  And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
  Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
  And cut the warning bell from the float.

  Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound;
  The bubbles rose, and burst around. 
  Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the rock
  Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok.”

  Sir Ralph, the rover, sailed away,—­
  He scoured the seas for many a day;
  And now, grown rich with plundered store,
  He steers his course to Scotland’s shore.

  So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky
  They could not see the sun on high;
  The wind hath blown a gale all day;
  At evening it hath died away.

  On the deck the rover takes his stand;
  So dark it is they see no land. 
  Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
  For there is the dawn of the rising moon.”

  “Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar? 
  For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
  Now where we are I cannot tell,
  But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell.”

  They hear no sound; the swell is strong,
  Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along;
  Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,—­
  O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!

  Sir Ralph, the rover, tore his hair;
  He beat himself in wild despair. 
  The waves rush in on every side;
  The ship is sinking beneath the tide.