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Became a prophecy, a guiding gleam.

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A Catholic he was and had his passport,

And did not fear to take a ship for London,

Though rumor owned it, things were lively there,

And travellers had better take a care,

Where “Bloody Mary” ruled with fierce abandon,

Suspecting strangers to be of the base sort.

The base sort being chiefly protestant,

Or sympathizers with the cause of Cranmer;

And since he was not either, he might venture

To see the city without fearing censure,

And so, at last, he started out to wander

Through Germany, whose scenes did him enchant.

At last he reached the port of old Calais,

And bought a passage ’cross the English Channel,

According as the angel had him bidden,

Believing that his chimes were used or hidden

In London town, where back of pane or panel

He’d seek and find them on some happy day.

Now as the wind bore gently ’gainst the sail,

And slowly eked their distance from the shore,

The western sun lay ruddy on the wave,

His dream thereby made real, all things, save