Things wondrous more that Legend old records: An hour past sunrise from the meads and moors Came wide-eyed herdsmen thronging, with demand, 'What means this marvel? All the long still night, While heaven and earth were dark, and peaceful sleep Closed in her arms the wearied race of men, Keeping our herds on meads and moorlands chill, We saw a glittering Tent beside your gates: Above it, and not far, a pillar stood, All light, and high as heaven!' The abbot answered, 'Fair Sirs, ye dreamed a dream; and sound your sleep Untroubled by the terror of the storm Whereof those woodland fragments witness still, And many a forest patriarch prostrate laid: There rose no pillar by our gates: yon Tent Stood there, and stood alone.' In two hours' space Shepherds arrived, from hills remoter sped, Making the same demand. With eye ill pleased Thus answered brief the prior: 'Friends, ye jest!' And they in wrath departed. Once again Came foresters from Lindsay's utmost bound, On horses blown, and spake: 'O'er yonder Tent, Through all the courses of the long still night, Behold, a shining pillar hovering stood: It rained a glory on your convent walls: It flung a trail of splendour o'er your woods: We watched it hour by hour. Like Oswald's Cross On Heaven-Field planted in the days of old, It waxed in height:--the stars were quenched.' Replied With reddening brows the youngest of those monks, 'Sirs, ye have had your bribe, and told your tale: Depart!' and they departed great in scorn.