The storm-winds break as whitely on Trevose,
And bruise Trevalga’s cliff to lilac stain,
As when they bore thee from the battle plain
And laid thee on this headland, and there rose
Cries of a kingless people, and the woes
Of friends who felt all victory was vain,
If here above the melancholy main
Beneath his mound the victor must repose.
Yet what he did was very bravely done:
He slew the wolf, he tamed the long-horned ox,
Broke the wild tribes who warred upon his throne,
And saved his people and his people’s flocks—
And so they set him with his axe of stone
Among the news that wall about the rocks.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 44)