The rolling mist came down and hid the land: "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee. CHARLES KINGSLEY AND SHALL TRELAWNY DIE? A GOOD Sword and a trusty hand! King James's men shall understand And have they fixed the where and when? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Out spake their captain brave and bold, |