 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
171
IX. WHITBY ABBEY.
Queen of the seaward Abbeys, bold to faceThe storms that steal, the robber eyes that rove,
Not hid in some far inland hollow grove,
But fearless: thou wert of a fearless race.
Born of a vow that gave the Christ His place
With loss to Mercia's King who vainly strove;
Reborn, when soldier-zeal and knightly love
Gave back thy fallen monastery grace.
Still thou art not disheartened. Oswy's vow,
The prayers of Hilda, Caedmon's Saxon rhyme,
And those four bishops, Beverley's Saint John,
Were in God's eye most precious,—and are now;
And, ere the sea run dry, thy bells shall chime
Up from the depths, and ring thine orison.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |