The words may not again be said, That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; And pile it in heaps above his grave. XV. "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at his Chief of Branksome's need; And when that need was past and o'er, I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright, 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!- Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, XVII. "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red To chase the spirits that love the night: 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 withered hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart to the task he went ; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, 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. I would you had been there to see And, issuing from the tomb, Shewed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, Danced on the dark-browed Warrior's mail, And kissed his waving plume. XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: His left hand held his Book of Might; A silver cross was in his right, The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle's bloody plain, And trampled down the warriors slain, And neither known remorse or awe; His breath came thick, his head swam round, And the priest prayed fervently, and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 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; |