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WITH naked foot, and sackcloth vest, And arms infolded on his breast,
Did every pilgrim go;
The standers-by might hear uneath, Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath,
Through all the lengthened row: No lordly look, nor martial stride, Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, Forgotten their renown; Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide To the high altar's hallowed side,
And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the lettered stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnished niche around, Stern saints and tortured martyrs frowned.
And slow up the dim aisle afar,
In long procession came:
With the Redeemer's name. Above the prostrate pilgrim band The mitred Abbot stretched his hand, And blessed them as they kneeled; With holy cross he signed them all, And prayed they might be sage in hall, And fortunate in field.
Then mass was sung, and prayers
"Then do thine office, Friar gray, And see thou shrive her free! Else shall the sprite that parts tonight,
Fling all its guilt on thee.
"Let mass be said, and trentals read,
The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Wild Darrell is an altered man,
If he hears the convent bell.
He's ta'en his ain horse amang them a',
And hame he rade sae manfullie.
"Welcome, my auld father!" said Christie Græme,
"But where sae lang frae hame were ye?"
"It's I hae been at Carlisle town, And a baffled man by thee I be.
"I hae been at Carlisle town, Where Sir Robert Bewick he met me;
He says ye're a lad, and ye are but bad,
And billie to his son ye canna be.
"I sent ye to school, and ye wadna learn;
I bought ye books, and ye wadna read; Wherefore my blessing ye shall