The palaces of Atlantis, over the soundless bells of 

 Gardens YS, above where Lyonesse is gathered in a 

 g ea foamless oblivion, the plummet may sink and 

 lift a few broken shells, the drag-net may 

 bring to the surface an unknown sea-snail 

 or such a microscopic green Alga as that 

 Halosphoera viridis which science has dis- 

 covered in the great depths beyond the reach 

 of sunlight : but who can tell, perchance how 

 few who care to know, what Love was, long 

 ago, when there were poets in Lyonesse : what 

 worship was served by white -robed priests 

 among the sunken fanes of Ys : what dreams 

 withstayed and what passions beset the noble 

 and the ignoble in drowned Atlantis, what 

 empires rose and fell there, what gods were 

 lauded and dethroned, and for how long 

 Destiny was patient. 



Even in the little pools that lie shoreward 

 of the Gardens of the Sea what beauty there 

 is, what obscure life, what fascinating 'other- 

 world' association. This piece of kelp is at 

 once Fucus vesiculosus and the long fingers of 

 the Cailliach-Mhara, the Sea- Witch. This 

 great smooth frond is ... I do not know, or 

 forget: but it is the kale of Manan, in sea- 

 groves of which that Shepherd pastures his 

 droves of uncouth sea-swine. This green 

 tracery has a Greek or Latin name, but in 

 218 



