"It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd, The banners waved without a blast"-- Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!-- I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head.
"Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead; Within it burns a wondrous 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 wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand.
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, Stream'd 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, Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail, And kiss'd his waving plume.
Before their eyes the Wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day. His hoary beard in silver roll'd. He seem'd some seventy winters old; A palmer's amice wrapp'd 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.
Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle's bloody plain, And trampled down the warriors slain, And neither known remorse nor awe; Yet now remorse and awe he own'd; His breath came thick, his head swam round. When this strange scene of death he saw. Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood. And the priest pray'd fervently and loud: With eyes averted prayed he; He might not endure the sight to see. Of the man he had loved so brotherly.