Chapter 44 No.44

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail

To vie with these in holy tale;

His body's resting-place of old,

How oft their patron changed, they told;

How, when the rude Dane burned their pile,

The monks fled forth from Holy Isle;

O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor,

From sea to sea, from shore to shore,

Seven years Saint Cut