THE CONVENT.
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. THE breeze, which swept away the smokeRound Norham Castle roll'd,When all the loud artillery spoke,With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke,As Marmion left the Hold,-- 5It curl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze,For, far upon Northumbrian seas,It freshly blew, and strong,Where, from high Whitby's cloister'd pile,Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 10It bore a bark along.Upon the gale she stoop'd her side,And bounded o'er the swelling tide,As she were dancing home;The merry seamen laugh'd, to see 15Their gallant ship so lustilyFurrow the green sea-foam.Much joy'd they in their honour'd freight;For, on the deck, in chair of state,The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, 20With five fair nuns, the galley graced.
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