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 DIES IRE, DIES ILLA, SOLVET SÆCLUM IN FAVILLA ; While the pealing organ rung; Were it meet with sacred strain To close my lay, so light and vain, Thus the holy Fathers sung. XXXI. Hpmn for the Dead. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead! Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away! 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, A simple hut; but there was seen There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, Oft heard the tale of other days; For much he loved to ope his door, And give the aid he begged before. So passed the winter's day; but still, When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, And July's eve, with balmy breath, Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath; When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw, And corn was green on Carterhaugh, And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak, The aged Harper's soul awoke! 'Then would he sing achievements high, And circumstance of chivalry, Till the rapt traveller would stay, Forgetful of the closing day; And noble youths, the strain to hear, And Yarrow, as he rolled along, Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. |