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To aid the Votaress, miracles believed

Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved;
So piety took root; and Song might tell
What humanizing virtues near her cell

Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around;
How savage bosoms melted at the sound
Of Gospel truth enchained in harmonies
Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,
From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.

When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love,
Was glorified, and took its place, above
The silent stars, among the angelic choir,
Her Chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,
And perished utterly; but her good deeds
Had sown the spot that witnessed them with seeds
Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze
With quickening impulse answered their mute
pleas,

And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.

There are the naked clothed, the hungry fed;

And Charity extendeth to the dead

Her intercessions made for the soul's rest
Of tardy penitents; or for the best

Among the good (when love might else have slept,
Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept.
Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees,
Who, to that service bound by venial fees,
Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.

Are not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties
Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies,
Subdued, composed, and formalized by art,
To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart?

The prayer for them whose hour is past away
Says to the Living, profit while ye may!
A little part, and that the worst, he sees,
Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys
That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.

Conscience, the timid being's inmost light,
Hope of the dawn and solace of the night,
Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray
In many an hour when judgment goes astray.
Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try
Earth to despise and flesh to mortify,
Consume with zeal, in wingèd ecstasies
Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries,
Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees.

Yet none so prompt to succor and protect
The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked
On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon
Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon
Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp
May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp,
It is not then when, swept with sportive ease,
It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees,
Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.

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How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice
What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice,
Imploring, or commanding with meet pride,
Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside,
And under one blest ensign serve the Lord
In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword!
Flaming till thou from Painim hands release
That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities
Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.

But look we now to them whose minds from far
Follow the fortunes which they may not share.
While in Judæa Fancy loves to roam,

She helps to make a Holy Land at home :
The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites
To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;
And wedded Life, through Scriptural mysteries,
Heavenward ascends with all her charities,
Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.

Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill

Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill
With love of God, throughout the Land were raised
Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed
Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe;

As at this day men seeing what they saw,
Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,
Aspire to more than earthly destinies;

Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.

Yet more; around those Churches gathered Towns
Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns;
Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold
Her scales with even hand, and culture mould
The heart to pity, train the mind in care
For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear.
Nor dost thou fail, through abject love of ease,
Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes,
To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.

Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful

grange

Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains

Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains?
The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please,
For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies
Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!

But all availed not; by a mandate given

Through lawless will, the Brotherhood was driven
Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low
In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.

But now once more the local Heart revives,
The inextinguishable Spirit strives.

O may that Power who hushed the stormy seas,
And cleared a way for the first Votaries,
Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees!

Alas! the Genius of our age from Schools

Less humble draws her lessons, aims, and rules.
To Prowess guided by her insight keen
Matter and Spirit are as one machine;
Boastful Idolatress of formal skill,

She in her own would merge the Eternal will:
Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these,
Her flight before the bold credulities

That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.*

1833.

XII.

IN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND AND THE ISLE OF MAN.

RANGING the heights of Scawfell or Black-comb,
In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause,
And strive to fathom the mysterious laws
By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom,
On Mona settle, and the shapes assume
Of all her peaks and ridges. What he draws
From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause,
He will take with him to the silent tomb.
Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee,
Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak
Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory

* See Excursion, Seventh Part; and Ecclesiastical Sketches, Second Part, near the beginning.

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