Requiem Second, XXXIV

The dying sounds had scarcely ceased, The prayer, half-mutter’d by the priest, When round, the congregated crowd Was parted like the thunder-cloud; Some grasp the sword, some couch the lance, Backward recoil, or firm advance; Then quiver’d as with earthquake’s shock St Baldred’s cradle in the rock, And Whitberry’s rugged point was broke; And, lo! (as old traditions’ say) That boat of stone in Aldham’s bay, Yclept the Saint’s, was seen to sail As chaff before the mountain gale; And all beneath fair Preston’s fane The Tyne began to boil amain! Until it foam’d o’er Linton linn, Whence rose that loud horrific din, As if another Tityus lay Chain’d with the vulture at his heart, Wailing his soul in groans away O’er agonies that must ne’er depart!