The candle of the sky grew straightway dark,
The winds waxed strong, the waves whirled, and the surge
Leapt high, the ropes creaked, dripping with the waves;
The Terror of the waters rose, and stood
Above them with the might of multitudes.
The thanes were sore afraid, not one of them
Dared hope that he would ever reach the land,
Of those who by the sea had sought a ship
With Andrew, for as yet they did not know 380
Who pointed out the course for that sea-bark.

[Footnote 1: Lit. "whale-sea."]

When he had eaten, then the faithful thane,
Saint Andrew, thanked the noble Counselor,
Upon the ocean, on the oar-swept sea:--
"For this repast may God, the righteous Lord,
Ruler of hosts, who sheds the light of life,
Grant thee reward, and give thee for thy food
The bread of heaven, e'en as thou hast shown
Good will and kindness to me on the deep. 390
My thanes, these warriors young, are sore afraid;
Loud roars the raging, overwhelming sea;
The ocean is all troubled, deeply moved;
And weary is my band, my company
Of valiant-hearted men, afflicted sore."
The Lord of men gave answer from the helm:--
"Our ship shall bear us back across the flood
Unto the land, and there thy men can wait
Upon the shore until thou come again." 400