THE MASS. 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 were said, And solemn requiem for the dead; DIES IRE, DIES ILLA SOLVET SÆCLUM IN FAVILLA; Were it meet with sacred strain HYMN FOR THE DEAD. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, "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. |