Archive for August 10th, 2018

Friday, 10 August 2018

The Haunted Shore by Wathen Mark Wilks Call

I walk’d at sunset by the lonely waves,
When Autumn stood about me, gold and brown;
I watch’d the great red Sun, in clouds, go down,
An orient King, that ‘mid his bronzèd slaves
Dies, leaning on his sceptre, with his crown.
A hollow moaning from innumerous caves,
In green and glassy darkness sunk below,
Told of some grand and ancient deed of woe,
Of murdered kings that sleep in weltering graves.
Still thro’ the sunshine wavering to and fro,
With sails all set, the little vessels glide;
Mild is the Eve and mild the ebbing Tide,
And yet that hollow moaning will not go,
Nor the old Fears that with the sea abide.

From: Call, Wathen Mark Wilks, Golden Histories, etc., 1871, Smith, Elder & Co.: London, p. 257.

Date: 1871

By: Wathen Mark Wilks Call (1817-1890)