Classic Poem

A TRUE TALE OF THE LAND'S END .

Two youthful travellers, hope-inspired,
A student and his friend,
When summer wore her richest robes,
Gazed on the grand Land's End.
They wander'd through its granite halls,
And rocky chambers wild,
Where idyls roll from stony lips,
From crag on crag up-piled.

Who has not heard in days gone by
Of many a wrecker's tale,
Dark deeds transacted 'mid those cliffs,
Until the cheek turn'd pale?
But now the light of Gospel grace
Streams through our western sphere;
Changing the lion to a lamb
In many a hamlet here.

The sea was blue, the cave was dry,
The rocks were shining bright;
The great waves tumbled on the shells,
And sparkled foamy white.
The two youths trod the grotto's floor
With fearless frolic feet,
Not knowing that the rising tide
Had cut off their retreat.

Yet so it was. The great green sea
Had closed them round and round;
So that they could not leave the cave,
Or reach the higher ground.
They shouted; but 't was all in vain;
They climb'd the cave's damp side;
The great sea rose yet more and more,
And thunder'd in its pride.

And still it rose. With crest of foam
Rolls in a mighty wave,
Which sweeps one of the youths away,
And bears him through the cave,
Leaving him dry upon the sand,
Saved from a fearful doom.
He tells a farmer of his friend,
Now drowning in the gloom.

They hasten to the o'erhanging cliff,
Their earnest aid to lend;
Let down a rope; the farmer's boy
Is dangling at the end.
He peers into the cavern drear,
Whose sides the waters lave,
And hails the youth with words of cheer
Still clinging to the cave:

Then bade him strive to catch a cord
He flung in on the sea,
And he would pull him from his tomb,
And set the fearful free.
And twice he tries, and twice he fails,
Then grasps it with his hand:
They pull the rope, and soon the two
Are safe upon the land.

The rescued youth, his love to show,
His gratitude and joy,
Takes off his golden watch and chain,
And puts them on the boy,
The old man plucks them from his son;
" Take back your gold, " he cried:
" 'T was not for gain, but love of life,
He saved you in the tide.

" Go, learn that nobleness of soul
Is found in ev'ry grade:
'T is not confined to princely courts,
Or won with warrior's blade.
Full oft it walks in rustic garb,
Where weeds of labour cling.
Take back your gold, take back your gold! "
O noble peasant-king!