University of Virginia Library

Oh pure as light their orisons arose
That breathes at dawning on the earth's repose,
When flowers awake, and birds are singing shrill
At airy distance, o'er the highest hill.
But far from these, by gilded palisade
Fenced from the aisle, one day a grave was made,
For one was coming, whom his florins' grace
Had gained within a knightly resting-place,
And honour, neath oblivion's nodding plume;
There's many a changeling memory on a tomb.
And when with long procession and with dole,
And priests with burly gait, that for the soul
Of their beloved brother lustily
Sang hymns, the pomp those wassailers came by,
And through the hostel rang the tinkling bell:
“Go forth Sir Tun, and look thou answer well,”
Thus cried they, “whom they carry in the street.”
Quoth the tall host, and looked down on his feet,
And up at the black rafters, as he drew
A troubled sigh, “Too well, alas! ye knew
His name and him, a comrade old and true.
But when lean dogs were howling yesternight,
And doors were barred, and stars were shining bright,
And played the moonlight, like a spirit lone
Down the long street, and all its crowds were gone,
There came a felon dark that haunts these ways
And in this country all the people slays,
And none can see him with his biting spear,
But still they shout, and shudder, Death is here!—
And there is nothing—save a cold pale form—
And wailing women and the funeral worm;
And so he smote yon gallant, as he sat
Full feasted, with a feather in his hat.
There was an end of drinking song I trow,
And the grey monks may bear his body now;
And hark, the Miserere low they sing.
But yesterday he revelled as a king,
Lo now he goeth like a Lazarus ,
With bell before him to his narrow house—
Alas! my masters, ye may rail and jeer,
When conscience wakes, 'tis evil reckoning here.
Aye, and 'twere better 'gainst this pestilence
Our peace to patch, for not an hour hence,
God wot, he dwelleth like the Gadarene
In a waste place, that hath a village been;
A Charnel now.”—But up with one accord
These madmen sprung, and stamped upon the board:
“What, dost thou tell us of a murdering thief,
And think to shield him with a priest's belief,
And bid us from his coming shrink and fly!
Stand back,” they shouted. “Varlet—we defy
Him whom thou palterest of—this traitor, Death!
And we will seek him over holt and heath,
And in his ribs our thirsty daggers sheath;
And of his black blood thou shalt see the stain
On their sharp points, when here we drink again!”