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Some to St Modan made their vows,
Some to St Mary of the Lowes,
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle,
Some to our Lady of the Isle;
Each did his patron witness make,
That he such pilgrimage would take,
And Monks should sing, and bells should toll,
All for the weal of Michael's soul.
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayed,
Tis said the noble Dame, dismayed,
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid.
XXVIII. Nought of the bridal will I tell, Which after in short space befel;Nor how brave sons and daughters fair Blessed Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir: After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain To wake the note of mirth again.
More meet it were to mark the day
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array,
With naked foot, and sackcloth vest,
Did every pilgrim go;
Through all the lengthened row:
Forgotten their renown;
And there they kneeled them down:
Beneath the lettered stones were laid
And slow up the dim aisle afar,
In long procession came;
Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, And solemn requiem for the dead;And bells tolled out their mighty peal, For the departed spirit's weal;And ever in the office close The hymn of intercession rose;And far the echoing aisles prolong The awful burthen of the song,—
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll,
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
Hushed is the harp—the Minstrel gone.
And did he wander forth alone?
Alone, in indigence and age,
To linger out his pilgrimage?
No:—close beneath proud Newark's tower,
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower;
A simple hut; but there was seen
The little garden hedged with green,
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.