The sea now rolls in triumph o’er the ground
Where once thy sacred edifice was rear’d;
No mark, no stone, to trace thy wall is found;
All, all is gone, as if thou ne’er appeared.
But yet ’tis said, at midnight’s fearful tide,
When wintry storms in angry surges sweep
The shore, complaining spirits from the deep
Pour forth their melancholy voices wide,
Speaking an awful tale of former days,
How holy men were torn from saintly graves
Their bones neglected-scatter’d by the waves.
Rest, troubled spirits; and to Him give praise
Whom storms and tides obey; direct thy care
To Heaven not earth, for alls’ recorded there. (101)
Heron-Allen, E. 1911. Selsey Bill: Historic and Prehistoric. London: Duckworth.