| |
| WHEN the heathen trumpet’s clang | |
| Round beleaguered Chester rang, | |
| Veiled nun and friar gray | |
| Marched from Bangor’s fair Abbaye; | |
| High their holy anthem sounds, | 5 |
| Cestria’s vale the hymn rebounds, | |
| Floating down the sylvan Dee. | |
| O miserere, Domine! | |
| |
| On the long procession goes, | |
| Glory round their crosses glows, | 10 |
| And the Virgin-mother mild | |
| In their peaceful banner smiled; | |
| Who could think such saintly band | |
| Doomed to feel unhallowed hand! | |
| Such was the Divine decree, | 15 |
| O miserere, Domine! | |
| |
| Bands that masses only sung, | |
| Hands that censers only swung, | |
| Met the northern bow and bill, | |
| Heard the war-cry wild and shrill; | 20 |
| Woe to Brockmael’s feeble hand, | |
| Woe to Olfrid’s bloody brand, | |
| Woe to Saxon cruelty, | |
| O miserere, Domine! | |
| |
| Weltering amid warriors slain, | 25 |
| Spurned by steeds with bloody mane, | |
| Slaughtered down by heathen blade, | |
| Bangor’s peaceful monks are laid; | |
| Word of parting rest unspoke, | |
| Mass unsung and bread unbroke; | 30 |
| For their souls for charity, | |
| Sing, O miserere, Domine! | |
| |
| Bangor! o’er the murder wail! | |
| Long thy ruins told the tale, | |
| Shattered towers and broken arch | 35 |
| Long recalled the woful march: | |
| On thy shrine no tapers burn, | |
| Never shall thy priests return; | |
| The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, | |
| O miserere, Domine! | 40 |
| |
