ON BEACHY H E A D 2~~l* 



where it was battered against the dull edge of the 

 rocks. The heat of the sun burns, thrown back 

 by the dazzling chalk ; the river of ocean flows 

 ceaselessly, casting the spray over the stones ; the 

 unchanged sky is blue. 



Let us go back and mount the steps at the Gap, 

 and rest on the sward there. I feel that I want 

 the presence of grass. The sky is a softer blue, 

 and the sun genial now the eye and the mind alike 

 are relieved the one of the strain of too great 

 solitude (not the solitude of the woods), the other 

 of too brilliant and hard a contrast of colours. 

 Touch but the grass, and the harmony returns; 

 it is repose after exaltation. 



A vessel comes round the promontory ; it is not 

 a trireme of old Rome, nor the " fair and stately 

 galley " Count Arnaldus hailed with its seamen 

 singing the mystery of the sea. It is but a brig 

 in ballast, high out of the water, black of hull and 

 dingy of sail : still, it is a ship, and there is always 

 an interest about a ship. She is so near, running 

 along but just outside the reef, that the deck is 

 visible. Up rises her stern as the billows come 

 fast and roll under; then her bow lifts, and imme- 

 diately she rolls, and, loosely swaying with the sea, 

 drives along. 



The slope of the billow now behind her is 

 white with the bubbles of her passage, rising^ 



