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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Thus guided on their course they bore, Until they near'd the mainland shore; When frequent on the hollow blast, Wild shouts of merriment were cast." Lord of the Isles. The joyful shouts and hearty cheers of the Ariel's crew continued for some time after her commander had reached her deck.
He heard, across the howling seas, Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides, Twinkle the monastery lights; But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd And now no bells, no convents more! The hurtling Polar lights are near'd, The sea without a human shore. That furtive mien, that scowling eye, Of hair that red and tufted fell It is oh, where shall Brandan fly?
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