XII. They sate them down on a marble stone, XIII. 'In these far climes it was my lot The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone. But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. XIV. 'When Michael lay on his dying bed, His conscience was awakened: He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed; They would rend this abbaye's massy nave, XV. 'I swore to bury his mighty book, I buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright, Where the floor of the chancel was stainèd red, XVI. 'It was a night of woe and dread, Strange sounds along the chancel passed, Still spoke the monk, when the bell tolled one!- Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, XVII. 'Lo, warrior! now the Cross of Red To chase the spirits that love the night. Slow moved the monk to the broad flagstone, 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; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain. Showed the monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, XX. Often had William of Deloraine And the priest prayed fervently and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, 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 mayst not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!' 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, As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I say the tale as 'twas said to me. XXIII. 'Now, hie thee hence,' the father said, Oh may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, And many a prayer and penance sped; Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. XXIV. The knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he passed the tombstones grey, For the mystic book, to his bosom pressed, And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, |