Part 5 (1/2)

IV.

Black was her garb, her rigid rule Reform'd on Benedictine school; 70 Her cheek was pale, her form was spare: Vigils, and penitence austere, Had early quench'd the light of youth, But gentle was the dame, in sooth; Though, vain of her religious sway, 75 She loved to see her maids obey, Yet nothing stern was she in cell, And the nuns loved their Abbess well.

Sad was this voyage to the dame; Summon'd to Lindisfame, she came, 80 There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold A chapter of Saint Benedict, For inquisition stern and strict, On two apostates from the faith, 85 And, if need were, to doom to death.

V.

Nought say I here of Sister Clare, Save this, that she was young and fair; As yet a novice unprofess'd, Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 90 She was betroth'd to one now dead, Or worse, who had dishonour'd fled.

Her kinsmen bade her give her hand To one, who loved her for her land: Herself, almost broken-hearted now, 95 Was bent to take the vestal vow, And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, Her blasted hopes and wither'd bloom.

VI.

She sate upon the galley's prow, And seem'd to mark the waves below; 100 Nay, seem'd, so fix'd her look and eye, To count them as they glided by.

She saw them not--'twas seeming all-- Far other scene her thoughts recall,-- A sun-scorch'd desert, waste and bare, 105 Nor waves, nor breezes, murmur'd there; There saw she, where some careless hand O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand, To hide it till the jackals come, To tear it from the scanty tomb.-- 110 See what a woful look was given, As she raised up her eyes to heaven!

VII.

Lovely, and gentle, and distress'd-- These charms might tame the fiercest breast: Harpers have sung, and poets told, 115 That he, in fury uncontroll'd, The s.h.a.ggy monarch of the wood, Before a virgin, fair and good, Hath pacified his savage mood.

But pa.s.sions in the human frame, 120 Oft put the lion's rage to shame: And jealousy, by dark intrigue, With sordid avarice in league, Had practised with their bowl and knife, Against the mourner's harmless life. 125 This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay Prison'd in Cuthbert's islet grey.

VIII.

And now the vessel skirts the strand Of mountainous Northumberland; Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, 130 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes.

Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay, And Tynemouth's priory and bay; They mark'd, amid her trees, the hall Of lofty Seaton-Delaval; 135 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods Rush to the sea through sounding woods; They pa.s.s'd the tower of Widderington, Mother of many a valiant son; At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 140 To the good Saint who own'd the cell; Then did the Alne attention claim, And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name; And next, they cross'd themselves, to hear The whitening breakers sound so near, 145 There, boiling through the rocks, they roar, On Dunstanborough's cavern'd sh.o.r.e; Thy tower, proud Bamborough, mark'd they there, King Ida's castle, huge and square, From its tall rock look grimly down, 150 And on the swelling ocean frown; Then from the coast they bore away, And reach'd the Holy Island's bay.

IX.

The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint's domain: 155 For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, The pilgrims to the shrine find way; Twice every day, the waves efface 160 Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace.

As to the port the galley flew, Higher and higher rose to view The Castle with its battled walls, The ancient Monastery's halls, 165 A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, Placed on the margin of the isle.

X.

In Saxon strength that Abbey frown'd, With ma.s.sive arches broad and round, That rose alternate, row and row, 170 On ponderous columns, short and low, Built ere the art was known, By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, The arcades of an alley'd walk To emulate in stone. 175 On the deep walls, the heathen Dane Had pour'd his impious rage in vain; And needful was such strength to these, Exposed to the tempestuous seas, Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, 180 Open to rovers fierce as they, Which could twelve hundred years withstand Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand.

Not but that portions of the pile, Rebuilded in a later style, 185 Show'd where the spoiler's hand had been; Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, And moulder'd in his niche the saint, And rounded, with consuming power, 190 The pointed angles of each tower; Yet still entire the Abbey stood, Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued.

XI.

Soon as they near'd his turrets strong, The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, 195 And with the sea-wave and the wind, Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, And made harmonious close; Then, answering from the sandy sh.o.r.e, Half-drown'd amid the breakers' roar, 200 According chorus rose: Down to the haven of the Isle, The monks and nuns in order file, From Cuthbert's cloisters grim; Banner, and cross, and relics there, 205 To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare; And, as they caught the sounds on air, They echoed back the hymn.

The islanders, in joyous mood, Rush'd emulously through the flood, 210 To hale the bark to land; Conspicuous by her veil and hood, Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, And bless'd them with her hand.

XII.

Suppose we now the welcome said, 215 Suppose the Convent banquet made: All through the holy dome, Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, Wherever vestal maid might pry, No risk to meet unhallow'd eye, 220 The stranger sisters roam: Till fell the evening damp with dew, And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, For there, even summer night is chill.

Then, having stray'd and gazed their fill, 225 They closed around the fire; And all, in turn, essay'd to paint The rival merits of their saint, A theme that ne'er can tire A holy maid; for, be it known, 230 That their saint's honour is their own.