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The Convent.

I. The breeze, which swept away the smoke,

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

As Marmion left the Hold.
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze;
For, far upon Northumbrian seas,

It freshly blew, and strong,

Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile,
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle,

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

As she were dancing home;
The merry seamen laughed, to see
Their gallant ship so lustily
Furrow the


sea-foam. Much joyed they in their honoured 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, How timid, and how curious too,

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