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Then mass was sung, and prayers were said,
Dies Ire, Dies Illa,
Solvet S-eclum In Fa Villa; While the pealing organ rung;
Were it meet with sacred strain
To close my lay, so light and vain, Thus the holy Fathers sung.
^pmn for tfje 2Dea&
That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
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.
There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze,