They gave him inspiration with their eyes,
And with his conquering music he returned it.
Oftener he roamed that strenuous eastern coast
To Yarrow and to Wearmouth, sacred sites,
The well-beloved of Bede, or northward more,
To Bamborough, Oswald’s keep. At Coldingham
His feet had rest—there where St. Ebba’s Cape
That ends the lonely range of Lammermoor,
Sustained for centuries o’er the wild sea-surge
In region of dim mist and flying bird,