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Sonnets Round the Coast

by H. D. Rawnsley
  

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IV. BLACK COMBE.
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IV. BLACK COMBE.

Who leaves the Ruin of the Nightshade dale,
The clouds of Furness, and the stithy roar,
And seeks by Duddon, Millom's haunted shore,
Or stands on Ireleth's slopes of quarry shale,—
Must feel, Black Combe, thy mystery prevail.
Not unimpressed by thee did men of yore
Broider thy skirts with Druid circles hoar,
They heard thee speak with words that never fail.
About thy mottled flanks of green and gold,
Strange organ-notes of worship from the sea
Steal up and die, or linger half expressed;
And added sounds of human melody
Tell, how repentant Lancelot, in his quest
For peace, found God, foreshadowed here of old.