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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.
expand sectionVI. 
BOOK VI. SONNETS OF THE NORTH-EAST COAST.
collapse sectionVII. 
BOOK VII.
expand sectionI. 
Part I SONNETS OF THE YORKSHIRE COAST—SALTBURN.
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Part II. SONNETS OF THE YORKSHIRE COAST-RUNSWICK BAY.
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Part III. SONNETS OF THE YORKSHIRE COAST—WHITBY.
 I. 
I. THE SORROW OF THE SEA.
 II. 
II. WHITBY.
 III. 
III. SAINT HILDA.
 IV. 
IV. BY THE ESK AT WHITBY.
 V. 
V. A CONTRAST: WHITBY.
 VI. 
VI. A MEMORY OF CAEDMON, WHITBY.
 VII. 
VII. SUNRISE AT WHITBY.
 VIII. 
VIII. A SUNSET AT WHITBY.
 IX. 
IX. WHITBY ABBEY.
 X. 
X. WHITBY ABBEY.
 XI. 
XI. AFTER THE HERRINGS, WHITBY.
 XII. 
XII. HERRINGS FINE!
 XIII. 
XIII. IN THE UPPER HARBOUR, WHITBY.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE BELL BUOY AT THE HARBOUR MOUTH, WHITBY.
 XV. 
XV. ON THE HARBOUR PIER, WHITBY.
 XVI. 
XVI. LIGHTS ON WHITBY CHURCH STAIRS.
 XVII. 
XVII. SAINT HILDA'S LIGHTS.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. SUNSET LIGHTS ON THE WINDOWS OF SAINT MARY'S CHURCH, WHITBY.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE SIX O'CLOCK BELL, WHITBY.
 XX. 
XX. THE JET WORKER.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE WHITBY BELLS.
 XXII. 
XXII. SERVICE IN THE OLD PARISH CHURCH, WHITBY.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. DROWNED BY THE UPSETTING OF THE LIFE-BOAT, OCTOBER 6, 1841.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. FAREWELL TO WHITBY.
 XXV. 
XXV. THE PENNY HEDGE.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. THE BEGGAR'S BRIDGE, GLAISDALE.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. ON A MOORLAND RAILWAY.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. PICKERING MOOR,
 XXIX. 
XXIX. LILLA CROSS.
 XXX. 
XXX. GOATHLAND.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. IN GLAISDALE WOOD.
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Part iv. SONNETS OF THE YORKSHIRE COAST—SCARBOROUGH.
expand sectionVIII. 
BOOK VIII. SONNETS OF THE LINCOLNSHIRE COAST.

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179

XVII. SAINT HILDA'S LIGHTS.

When over Lythe the sun has just gone down,
And opal mist has filled the hollow way
Whereby the boats steal out into the bay,
And audibly the sea sobs to the town,
In that old church, which is the harbour's crown,
Three windows brighten wondrously. Men say
It is Saint Hilda, come with saint's array—
Slid out of Heaven to be a moment known.
The fisher sees the wonder on the hill,—
He takes the glow to bode a fairer wind.
The babe leaps up in bed to watch the gleam,
And a bright presence haunts his infant dream.
Each sunset proves it is Saint Hilda's will
To keep the light of other days in mind.
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