IX.

The tide did now its flood-mark gain,
And girdled in the Saint’s domain:  155
For, with the flow and ebb, its style
Varies from continent to isle;
Dry-shod, o’er sands, twice every day,
The pilgrims to the shrine find way;
Twice every day, the waves efface 160
Of staves and sandall’d feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew,
Higher and higher rose to view
The Castle with its battled walls,
The ancient Monastery’s halls, 165
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile,
Placed on the margin of the isle.

X.

In Saxon strength that Abbey frown’d,
With massive arches broad and round,
  That rose alternate, row and row, 170
  On ponderous columns, short and low,
    Built ere the art was known,
  By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk,
  The arcades of an alley’d walk
    To emulate in stone. 175
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane
Had pour’d his impious rage in vain;
And needful was such strength to these,
Exposed to the tempestuous seas,
Scourged by the winds’ eternal sway, 180
Open to rovers fierce as they,
Which could twelve hundred years withstand
Winds, waves, and northern pirates’ hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile,
Rebuilded in a later style, 185
Show’d where the spoiler’s hand had been;
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen
Had worn the pillar’s carving quaint,
And moulder’d in his niche the saint,
And rounded, with consuming power, 190
The pointed angles of each tower;
Yet still entire the Abbey stood,
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued.

XI.

Soon as they near’d his turrets strong,
The maidens raised Saint Hilda’s song, 195
And with the sea-wave and the wind,
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined,
  And made harmonious close;
Then, answering from the sandy shore,
Half-drown’d amid the breakers’ roar, 200
  According chorus rose: 
Down to the haven of the Isle,
The monks and nuns in order file,
  From Cuthbert’s cloisters grim;
Banner, and cross, and relics there, 205
To meet Saint Hilda’s maids, they bare;
And, as they caught the sounds on air,
  They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood,
Rush’d emulously through the flood, 210
  To hale the bark to land;
Conspicuous by her veil and hood,
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood,
  And bless’d them with her hand.

XII.