XVI.

But fain Saint Hilda’s nuns would learn If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne, Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-born beads that bear his name: Such tales had Whitby’s 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 round. But this, as tale of idle fame, The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim.