48
And, issuing from the tomb,
Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale;
Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail,
And kissed his waving plume.
Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale;
Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail,
And kissed his waving plume.
XIX.
Before their eyes the Wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day;
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his book of might;
A silver cross was in his right;
The lamp was placed beside his knee:
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook;
And all unruffled was his face—
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.
Before their eyes the Wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day;
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his book of might;
A silver cross was in his right;
The lamp was placed beside his knee:
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook;
And all unruffled was his face—
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.
