Then Whitby's nuns exulting told,
How to their house three Barons bold
Must menial service do;
While horns blow out a note of shame, 235
And monks cry 'Fye upon your name!
In wrath, for loss of silvan game,
Saint Hilda's priest ye slew.'--
'This, on Ascension-day, each year,
While labouring on our harbour-pier, 240
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear.'--
They told how in their convent-cell
A Saxon princess once did dwell,
The lovely Edelfled;
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 245
Was changed into a coil of stone,
When holy Hilda pray'd;
Themselves, within their holy bound,
Their stony folds had often found.
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, 250
As over Whitby's towers they sail,
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint,
They do their homage to the saint.