Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. 'Now they are all on their knees,' An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave In these years yet, I feel If someone said on Christmas Eve, 'Come see the oxen kneel, In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know,' I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.
The courses of theVictory were absorbed into the main, then her topsails went, and then her top-gallants. She was now no more than a dead flys wing on a sheet of spiders web and even this fragment diminished. Anne could hardly bear to see the end, and yet she resolved not to flinch. The admirals flag sank behind the watery line, and in a minute the very trunk of the last main-mast stole away. The Victory was gone.