And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron's cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the wizard's grave. XVI. It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel past; The banners waved without a blast,”— --Still spoke the monk, when the bell tolled one! I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, 66 Lo, warrior! now, the cross of red To chase the spirits that love the night: Until the eternal doom shall be." Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone, Which the bloody cross was traced upon: He pointed to a secret nook; An iron bar the warrior took; And the monk made a sign, with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart, to the task he went; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length. Showed the monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. 1 Before their eyes the wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, XX. Often had William of Deloraine He might not endure the sight to see, XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed, Thus unto Deloraine he said : Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" From the cold hand the mighty book, But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the knight and priest withdrew, Because these spells were brought to day. XXIII. a Now, hie thee hence," the father said; "And when we are on death-bed laid, O may our dear ladye, and sweet St. John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done?? The monk returned him to his cell, And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noon-tide bell, The monk of Saint Mary's aisle was dead! Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed, XXIV. The knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he passed the tombstones gray, Which girdle round the fair Abbaye; For the mystic book, to his bosom prest, And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, 3 He joyed to see the cheerful light, XXV. The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, The sun had brightened the Carter's* side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers andTeviot's tide. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And wakened every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain rose : And lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale, She early left her sleepless bed, The fairest maid of Teviotdale. * A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh. |