But Destiny swoop'd darkling on their course: For as they drew anear the land of France, A wind arose and swell'd to tempest force; Their sail was rent, and many a dire mischance Shook those wild thralls o' the sea, while vain remorse Unloosed slow tongues to surly utterance— His leman dear should to the waves be thrown, Thus only might they for such sin atone. |