THE FLIGHT.
85
Our dying mother join'd our hands; she knew this father well;
She bid its love, like souls in Heaven, and now I fly from Hell,
She bid its love, like souls in Heaven, and now I fly from Hell,
XXIII.
And you with me; and we shall light upon some lonely shore,
Some lodge within the waste sea-dunes, and hear the waters roar,
And see the ships from out the West go dipping thro' the foam,
And sunshine on that sail at last which brings our Edwin home.
And you with me; and we shall light upon some lonely shore,
Some lodge within the waste sea-dunes, and hear the waters roar,
And see the ships from out the West go dipping thro' the foam,
And sunshine on that sail at last which brings our Edwin home.
XXIV.
But look, the morning grows apace, and lights the old church-tower,
But look, the morning grows apace, and lights the old church-tower,
