“Down in the deep, with freight and crew,
  Past any help she lies,
And never a bale has come to shore
  Of all thy merchandise.”

“For cloth o’ gold and comely frieze,”
  Winstanley said, and sighed,
“For velvet coif, or costly coat,
  They fathoms deep may bide.

“O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind,
  O mariners, bold and true,
Sorry at heart, right sorry am I,
  A-thinking of yours and you.

“Many long days Winstanley’s breast
  Shall feel a weight within,
For a waft of wind he shall be ’feared
  And trading count but sin.

“To him no more it shall be joy
  To pace the cheerful town,
And see the lovely ladies gay
  Step on in velvet gown.”

The “Snowdrop” sank at Lammas tide,
  All under the yeasty spray;
On Christmas Eve the brig “Content”
  Was also cast away.

He little thought o’ New Year’s night,
  So jolly as he sat then,
While drank the toast and praised the roast
  The round-faced Aldermen,—­

While serving lads ran to and fro,
  Pouring the ruby wine,
And jellies trembled on the board,
  And towering pasties fine,—­

While loud huzzas ran up the roof
  Till the lamps did rock o’erhead,
And holly-boughs from rafters hung
  Dropped down their berries red,—­

He little thought on Plymouth Hoe,
  With every rising tide,
How the wave washed in his sailor lads,
  And laid them side by side.

There stepped a stranger to the board: 
  “Now, stranger, who be ye?”
He looked to right, he looked to left,
  And “Rest you merry,” quoth he;

“For you did not see the brig go down,
  Or ever a storm had blown;
For you did not see the white wave rear
  At the rock,—­the Eddystone.

“She drave at the rock with sternsails set;
  Crash went the masts in twain;
She staggered back with her mortal blow,
  Then leaped at it again.

“There rose a great cry, bitter and strong,
  The misty moon looked out! 
And the water swarmed with seamen’s heads,
  And the wreck was strewed about.

“I saw her mainsail lash the sea
  As I clung to the rock alone;
Then she heeled over, and down she went,
  And sank like any stone.

“She was a fair ship, but all’s one! 
  For naught could bide the shock.” 
“I will take horse,” Winstanley said,
  “And see this deadly rock.”

“For never again shall bark o’ mine
  Sail over the windy sea,
Unless, by the blessing of God, for this
  Be found a remedy.”

Winstanley rode to Plymouth town
  All in the sleet and the snow,
And he looked around on shore and sound
  As he stood on Plymouth Hoe.

Till a pillar of spray rose far away,
  And shot up its stately head,
Reared and fell over, and reared again: 
  “’Tis the rock! the rock!” he said.