Then rose the King and moved his host by night,
And ever push'd Sir Mordred, league by league,
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long mountains ended in a coast
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
The phantom circle of a moaning sea.
Tennyson, Idylls of the King