Marmion . told; How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; Oer northern mountain, marsh, and m!jor. From sea to sea, from shore to shore. Seven years Saint Cuthberts corpse they bore. They rested them in fair Melrose ;But though, alive, he loved it well. Not there his relics might repose;For, wondrous tale to tell! In his stone-coflin forth he rides, A ponderous bark for river tides, Yet light as gossamer it to Tilmouth long was his abiding there,For southward did the saint repair;Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, sawHis holy corpse,
Marmion . told; How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; Oer northern mountain, marsh, and m!jor. From sea to sea, from shore to shore. Seven years Saint Cuthberts corpse they bore. They rested them in fair Melrose ;But though, alive, he loved it well. Not there his relics might repose;For, wondrous tale to tell! In his stone-coflin forth he rides, A ponderous bark for river tides, Yet light as gossamer it to Tilmouth long was his abiding there,For southward did the saint repair;Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, sawHis holy corpse, ere Wardilaw Hailed him with joy and fear;And, after many wanderings past,He chose his lordly seat at his cathedral, huge and vast. Looks down upon the Wear;There, deep in Durhams Gothic shade,His relics are in secret laid ; But none may know the of his holiest servants three,Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. Who share that wondrous grace. 84 MAILMIOX. CANTO XV. Who may his miracles declare ! Even Scotlands dauntless king, and heir, — Although with them they ledGalwegians, wild as oceans gale,And Lodens knights, all sheathed in mail,And the bold men of Teviotdale,— Before his standard he, to vindicate his reign,Edged Alfreds falchion on the Dane,And turned the Conqueror back again,When, with his Norman bowyer l)and,He came to waste Northumberland. THE CONVENT. 85 XVI, But fain Saint Hildas nuns would learnIf, on a rock, by Lindisfanie,Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frameTlie sea-born beads that bear his name:Such tales had Whitbys fishers told,And said they might his shape behold. And hear his anvil sound;A deadened clang, — a huge dim form,Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm And night were closing this, as tale of idle fame,The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. While round the fire such legends go,Far different was the scene of woe,Where, in a secret aisle was held of life and death. It was
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