The Funeral, XIII

At morning’s dawn the Bass appear’d, Half hid in ocean’s mantle fold, Shining as magic wand had rear’d A mountain pearl in bed of gold. Afar, impervious to the sun, The woad-dyed groups, in shadows dun, Along the summits steal; While glad the Bishop’s barge they hail, Seen, swan-like, urged by favouring gale Westward the port of Bele. Where high Tantallon’s castle stands, Like vet’ran set to watch the deep, Gleam’d nodding heads, and waving hands, Wherever human foot might creep; And rocky cave, and ocean bay, Bore the loud shoutings far away, That hail’d the monk of Lindisfarn In friendship free—in virtue stern.