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n Saxon strength that Abbey frown'd,With massive arches broad and round,That rose alternate, row and row, 170On ponderous columns, short and low,Built ere the art was known,By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk,The arcades of an alley'd walkTo emulate in stone. 175On the deep walls, the heathen DaneHad 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, 180Open to rovers fierce as they,Which could twelve hundred years withstandWinds, waves, and northern pirates' hand.Not but that portions of the pile,Rebuilded in a later style, 185Show'd where the spoiler's hand had been;Not but the wasting sea-breeze keenHad worn the pillar's carving quaint,And moulder'd in his niche the saint,And rounded, with consuming power, 190The pointed angles of each tower;Yet still entire the Abbey stood,Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued.
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