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Sonnets Round the Coast

by H. D. Rawnsley
Rawnsley, H. D. (1851-1920)
  
[dedication]

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[section]
expand sectionI. 
BOOK I. SONNETS OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT AND SOUTH COAST.
expand sectionII. 
BOOK II. SONNETS OF THE CORNISH COASTS.
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BOOK III. SONNETS OF THE BRISTOL CHANNEL.
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BOOK IV. SONNETS OF THE WELSH COAST.
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BOOK V. SONNETS OF THE LANCASHIRE AND CUMBERLAND COASTS.
 I. 
I. EAST AND WEST.
 II. 
II. THE TOWER ON THE HOAD, ULVERSTON.
 III. 
III. A LAUNCH FROM THE FURNESS DOCKS.
 IV. 
IV. BLACK COMBE.
 V. 
V. ESKMEALS.
 VI. 
VI. AT KING HENRY'S CHAPEL, MUNCASTER.
 VII. 
VII. A QUIET AUTUMN DAY,
 VIII. 
VIII. AT MUNCASTER,
 IX. 
IX. THE DEATH OF OLAF THE DANE—
 X. 
X. HOME FROM THE EAST.
 XI. 
XI. THE LIGHT-SHIP, SEEN FROM SEASCALE.
 XII. 
XII. THE DRUID STONE NEAR MILLBECK, SEASCALE.
 XIII. 
XIII. BRAVE SAILING.
 XIV. 
XIV. AT SEASCALE.
 XV. 
XV. THE PREACHER'S SEASIDE LESSON.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE OLD WRECK AT SEASCALE.
 XVII. 
XVII. THE IRISH LAND LEAGUE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. ROCK RUINS AT SEASCALE.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE GOSFORTH CROSS.
 XX. 
XX. SEASCALE MEMORIES.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE PEACE OF UNDERSTANDING.
 XXII. 
XXII. ARCHBISHOP GRINDAL,
 XXIII. 
XXIII. TOMB OF THOMAS DE COTTINGHAM,
 XXIV. 
XXIV. BEOWULF'S STONE, SAINT BEES.
 XXV. 
XXV. THE SNOW MIRACLE,
 XXVI. 
XXVI. THE FORESTER'S. TOMB, SAINT BEES.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. SAINT BEES.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. SEA-COTE, SAINT BEES.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. SEA-GULLS AT SAINT BEES.
 XXX. 
XXX. THE LARK ON TOMLINE HEAD.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. A DOUBTFUL MAY.
 XII. 
XII. MUSIC OF TWO WORLDS, SAINT BEES HEAD.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. THE IMPERISHABLE GOSPEL.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. THE GLADNESS OF THE SEA.
expand sectionVI. 
BOOK VI. SONNETS OF THE NORTH-EAST COAST.
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BOOK VII.
expand sectionVIII. 
BOOK VIII. SONNETS OF THE LINCOLNSHIRE COAST.

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200

IV. SCARBOROUGH CASTLE.

Grim Scardeborga—so our sages spell
The name the Vikings gave thee—since the night
When fierce Hardrada from thy rocky height
Rained flaky fires that on the fish-huts fell,
And left them ashes, never has the smell
Of fire passed from thee! Fury of the fight,
Zeal for the king or for the people's right,
Have flamed up fresh in yonder citadel.
But they who see thy fortress-cavern gape
High in the wall where once the faggot blazed,
Where now the winds blow desolate and cold,
May know two fires—though here imprisoned both,
Burn free—one, Mercy, in pure woman-shape;
One, zeal for God, a weaver-prophet raised.
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