and the dark line of the English coast continued for some time visible at
intervals, as we rose on the broad back of the waves. I exerted myself with
my long oar to give swift impulse to our skiff; and, while the waters
splashed with melancholy sound against its sides, I looked with sad
affection on this last glimpse of sea-girt England, and strained my eyes
not too soon to lose sight of the castellated cliff, which rose to protect
the land of heroism and beauty from the inroads of ocean, that, turbulent
as I had lately seen it, required such cyclopean walls for its repulsion. A
solitary sea-gull winged its flight over our heads, to seek its nest in a
cleft of the precipice. Yes, thou shalt revisit the land of thy birth, I
thought, as I looked invidiously on the airy voyager; but we shall, never
more! Tomb of Idris, farewell! Grave, in which my heart lies sepultured,
farewell for ever!

We were twelve hours at sea, and the heavy swell obliged us to exert all
our strength. At length, by mere dint of rowing, we reached the French
coast. The stars faded, and the grey morning cast a dim veil over the
silver horns of the waning moon--the sun rose broad and red from the sea,
as we walked over the sands to Calais. Our first care was to procure
horses, and although wearied by our night of watching and toil, some of our
party immediately went in quest of these in the wide fields of the
unenclosed and now barren plain round Calais. We divided ourselves, like
seamen, into watches, and some reposed, while others prepared the morning's
repast. Our foragers returned at noon with only six horses--on these,
Adrian and I, and four others, proceeded on our journey towards the great
city, which its inhabitants had fondly named the capital of the civilized
world. Our horses had become, through their long holiday, almost wild, and
we crossed the plain round Calais with impetuous speed. From the height
near Boulogne, I turned again to look on England; nature had cast a misty
pall over her, her cliff was hidden--there was spread the watery barrier
that divided us, never again to be crossed; she lay on the ocean plain,

In the great pool a swan's nest.

Ruined the nest, alas! the swans of Albion had passed away for ever--an
uninhabited rock in the wide Pacific, which had remained since the
creation uninhabited, unnamed, unmarked, would be of as much account in
the world's future history, as desert England.

Our journey was impeded by a t