When the Wind bloweth in from the Sea. 175 



drowned mariner, the bird well might haunt this fatal 

 shore. Every reef has its record of disaster; every 

 headland its tale of wreck and ruin. 



Beyond the twin towers, that send their white shafts 

 of light far out over the surge, stretch long lines of 

 nameless graves. 



Still, on the beach to northward there shine at times 

 among the shingle, after heavy gales, the sea-worn 

 dollars from a Spanish treasure-ship whose freight of 

 silver rests beneath the sand. 



The fishermen still hear in fancy, in the pauses of 

 the storm, the crash of timbers, and the shrill despair- 

 ing wail, where, long years ago, a great transport sank 

 with all her crew. 



There is no winter but adds something to the 

 record ; hardly a tide but drifts into these 



' Sheltered coves and reaches 

 Of sandy beaches,' 



some message from the sea. 



