Aelfrida
Tillyard .
Now
as I stand
above
thy
flowing tide
I
see
a
Spanish
galleon
take the bay
So
come my dreams upon my
soul
a-
ride
,
As
waves are ridden
by
the
tossing
spray
.
O
sea
,
O
mountains
,
make my song
to
be
Mist
of
the mountains
,
foam
of
the
sea
.
The
sea grows leaden
as
the
sun
goes
down
,
The mountains
shudder
forth
their
breath
in
mist
,
But
the highest hill
-
crest wears
a
golden
crown
,
So
crowned
are men
who
to
their
dreams may
list
.
O
sea
,
O
mountains
,
make my song
to
be
Mist
of
the mountains
,
foam
of
the
sea
.
O
western
hills
,
the cradle
of
my
race
,
Ye mountains
cold
,
their
marriage
-
bed
and
shroud
,
Than
yours
I'll
seek
no
other
wife
's
embrace
If
I
may
speak
your
stormy soul aloud
.
O
sea
,
O
mountains
,
make my
song
to
be
Mist
of
the mountains
,
foam
of
the
sea
.
195