The Spot where Cook Landed

Chaotic crags are huddled east and west--
Dark, heavy crags, against a straitened sea
That cometh, like a troubled soul in quest
Of voiceless rest where never dwelleth rest,
With noise "like thunder everlasting."
But here, behold a silent space of sand!--
Oh, pilgrim, halt!--it even seems to be
Asleep in other years  How still!  How grand!
How awful in its wild solemnity!
This is the spot on which the Chief did land,
And there, perchance, he stood what time a band
Of yelling strangers scoured the savage lea.
Dear friend, with thoughtful eyes look slowly round--
By all the sacred Past 'tis sacred ground.