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O'er the black waves incessant driven,
Dark mists infect the summer heaven;
Through the rude barriers of the lake,
Away its hurrying waters break,
Faster and whiter dash and curl,
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl.
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow,
Thunders the viewless stream below,
Diving, as if condemn’d to lave
Some demon's subterranean cave,
Who, prison’d by enchanter's spell,
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell.
And well that Palmer's form and mien
Had suited with the stormy scene,
Just on the edge, straining his ken
To view the bottom of the den,
Where, deep deep down, and far within,
Toils with the rocks the roaring linn;
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave,
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave,
White as the snowy charger's tail,
Drives down the pass of Moffatdale.

Marriott, thy harp, on Isis strung,
To many a Border theme has rung :'
Then list to me, and thou shalt know
of this mysterious Man of Woe.

'[See various ballads by Mr. Marriott, in the 4th vol. of the Border Minstrelsy.) R 7*

MARMION.

CANTO SECOND.

THE CONVENT.

I.
The breeze, which swept away the smoke,

Round Norham Castle rollid,
When all the loud artillery spoke,
With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke,

As Marmion left the Hold.
It curl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze,
far
upon
Northumbrian

seas,
It freshly blew, and strong,
Where, from high Whitby's cloister'd pile,'
Bound to St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle,

For,

* The Abbey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconry of Cleaveland, on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A. D. 657, in consequence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northumberland. It contained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order; but, contrary to what was usual in such establishments, the abbess was superior to the abbot. The monastery was afterwards ruined by the Danes, and rebuilded by William Percy, in the reign of the Conqueror. There were no nuns there in Henry the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby Abbey are very magnificent.

* Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery,

It bore a bark along.
Upon the gale she stoop'd her side,
And bounded o'er the swelling tide,

As she were dancing home;
The merry seamen laugh'd, to see
Their gallant ship so lustily

Furrow the green sea-foam.
Much joy'd they in their honour'd freight;
For, on the deck, in chair of state,
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed,
With five fair nuns, the galley graced.

II.
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids,
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades.
Their first flight from the cage,

and from its having been the episcopal seat of the see of Durham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succession of holy men held that office: but their merits were swallowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his patrimony" upon the extensive property of the see.

The ruins of the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The arches are, in general, strictly Saxon; and the pillars which support them, short, strong, and massy. In some places, however, there are pointed windows, which indicate that the building has been repaired at a period long subsequent to the original foundation, The exterior ornaments of the building, being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, as described in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, as the venerable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle; for, although surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry between it and the oppo site coast of Northumberland, from which it is about three miles distant.

How timid, and how curious too,
For all to them was strange and new,
And all the common sights they view,

Their wonderment engage.
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail,

With many a benedicite;
One at the rippling surge grew pale,

And would for terror pray;
Then shriek'd, because the seadog, nigh,
His round black head, and sparkling eye

Reard o'er the foaming spray:
And one would still adjust her veil,
Disorder'd by the summer gale,
Perchance lest some more worldly eye
Her dedicated charms might spy ;
Perchance, because such action graced
Her fair-turn'd arm and slender waist.
Light was each simple bosom there,
Save two, who ill might pleasure share, -
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare.

II.
The Abbess was of noble blood,
But early took the veil and hood,
Ere upon life she cast a look,
Or knew the world that she forsook.
Fair too she was, and kind had been
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen
For her a timid lover sigh,
Nor knew the influence of her eye.
Love, to her ear, was but a name,
Combined with vanity and shame;
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all
Bounded within the cloister wall:

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