Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/147

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To other climes the pilgrim fled, But could not fly despair,He sought his home again, but peace Was still a stranger there.
Each hour was tedious long, yet swift The months appear'd to roll;And now the day return'd that shook With terror William's soul.
A day that William never felt Return without dismay,For well had conscience kalendered Young Edmund's dying day.
A fearful day was that! the rains Fell fast, with tempest roar,And the swoln tide of Severn spread Far on the level shore.
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