But now the counsel came, ’Every man home,
For after Scotland rounded, when he curves
Southward, and all the batter’d armament,
What hinders on our undefended coast
To land where’er he listeth?  Every man
Home.’ 
        And we mounted and did open forth
Like a great fan, to east, to north, to west,
And rumour met us flying, filtering
Down through the border.  News of wicked joy,
The wreckers rich in the Faroes, and the Isles
Orkney, and all the clansmen full of gear
Gathered from helpless mariners tempted in
To their undoing; while a treacherous crew
Let the storm work upon their lives its will,
Spoiled them and gathered all their riches up. 
Then did they meet like fate from Irish kernes,
Who dealt with them according to their wont.

In a great storm of wind that tore green leaves
And dashed them wet upon me, came I home. 
Then greeted me my dame, and Rosamund,
Our one dear child, the heir of these my fields—­
That I should sigh to think it!  There, no more.

Being right weary I betook me straight
To longed-for sleep, and I did dream and dream
Through all that dolourous storm; though noise of guns
Daunted the country in the moonless night,
Yet sank I deep and deeper in the dream
And took my fill of rest. 
                           A voice, a touch,
‘Wake.’  Lo! my wife beside me, her wet hair
She wrung with her wet hands, and cried, ’A ship! 
I have been down the beach.  O pitiful! 
A Spanish ship ashore between the rocks,
And none to guide our people.  Wake.’ 
                                     Then I
Raised on mine elbow looked; it was high day;
In the windy pother seas came in like smoke
That blew among the trees as fine small rain,
And then the broken water sun-besprent
Glitter’d, fell back and showed her high and fast
A caravel, a pinnace that methought
To some great ship had longed; her hap alone
Of all that multitude it was to drive
Between this land of England her right foe,
And that most cruel, where (for all their faith
Was one) no drop of water mote they drink
For love of God nor love of gold. 
                                   I rose
And hasted; I was soon among the folk,
But late for work.  The crew, spent, faint, and bruised
Saved for the most part of our men, lay prone
In grass, and women served them bread and mead,
Other the sea laid decently alone
Ready for burial.  And a litter stood
In shade.  Upon it lying a goodly man,
The govourner or the captain as it seemed,
Dead in his stiff gold-broider’d bravery,
And epaulet and sword.  They must have loved
That man, for many had died to bring him in,
Their boats stove in were stranded here and there. 
In one—­but how I know not—­brought they him,
And he was laid upon a folded flag,
Many times doubled for his greater ease,
That was our thought—­and we made signs to them
He should have sepulture.  But when they knew
They must needs leave him, for some marched them off
For more safe custody, they made great moan.