to perceive its beauty. The brief picture of the land, and the fuller
one of the sea, and that (more elaborate still) of the occupations of
the fugitive, all have their own charm. But the triumph of the piece
is in one of those metrical _coups_ which give the triumph of all the
greatest poetry, in the sudden change from the slower movements of the
earlier stanzas or strophes to the quicker sweep of the famous
conclusion--

"The salt tide rolls seaward,
Lights shine from the town"--

to

"She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea."

Here the poet's poetry has come to its own.

_In Utrumque Paratus_ sounds the note again, and has one exceedingly
fine stanza:--

"Thin, thin the pleasant human noises grow,
And faint the city gleams;
Rare the lone pastoral huts--marvel not thou!
The solemn peaks but to the stars are known,
But to the stars, and the cold lunar beams;
Alone the sun arises, and alone
Spring the great streams."

But _Resignation_, the last poem in the book, goes far higher. Again,