'Twere long, and needless, here to tell, How to my hand these papers fell; With me they must not stay. Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true! 680 Who knows what outrage he might do, While journeying by the way?-- O, blessed Saint, if e'er again I venturous leave thy calm domain, To travel or by land or main, 685 Deep penance may I pay!-- Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: I give this packet to thy care, For thee to stop they will not dare; And O! with cautious speed, 690 To Wolsey's hand the papers 'bring, That he may show them to the King: And, for thy well-earn'd meed, Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine A weekly mass shall still be thine, 695 While priests can sing and read.- What ail'st thou?--Speak!'--For as he took The charge, a strong emotion shook His frame; and, ere reply, They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 700 Like distant clarion feebly blown, That on the breeze did die; And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear, 'Saint Withold, save us!--What is here! Look at yon City Cross! 705 See on its battled tower appear Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, And blazon'd banners toss!'-- XXV. Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone, Rose on a turret octagon; 710 (But now is razed that monument, Whence royal edict rang, And voice of Scotland's law was sent In glorious trumpet-clang. O! be his tomb as lead to lead, 715 Upon its dull destroyer's head!-- A minstrel's malison is said.)-- Then on its battlements they saw A vision, passing Nature's law, Strange, wild, and dimly seen; 720 Figures that seem'd to rise and die, Gibber and sign, advance and fly, While nought confirm'd could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien. Yet darkly did it seem, as there 725 Heralds and Pursuivants prepare, With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, A summons to proclaim; But indistinct the pageant proud, As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 730 When flings the moon upon her shroud A wavering tinge of flame; It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, From midmost of the spectre crowd, This awful summons came:-- 735 XXVI.