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,

Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed;

Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread,

And his hair did bristle upon his head.

XVII.

"Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red
Points to the grave of the mighty dead;
Within it burns a wonderous light,

To chase the spirits that love the night:
That lamp shall burn unquenchably,

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 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
How the light broke forth so gloriously;
Streamed upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof!

No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright:
It shone like heaven's own blessed light;

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,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
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,

And all unruffled was his face :

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;
Yet now remorse and awe he owned;
His breath came thick, his head swam round,
When this strange scene of death he saw.
Bewildered and unnerved he stood,

And the priest prayed fervently, and loud:
With eyes averted prayed he;

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;

For those, thou mayest not look upon,

Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"

Then Deloraine, in terror, took

From the cold hand the Mighty Book,

With iron clasped, and with iron bound:

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned; But the glare of the sepulchral light,

Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight.

XXII.

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb,

The night returned, in double gloom;

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few ;

And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew,

With wavering steps and dizzy brain,

They hardly might the postern gain.

'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed,

They heard strange noises on the blast;
And through the cloister-galleries small,

Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,