Requiem Third, XXXIX

Still on the Hebrew’s purim day, (That day that tells of Haman’s fall) In after ages, blithe and gay, Was held St Baldred’s festival.

At earliest morn the swains would go To deck his loved and hallow’d shrine, With blooming bay and misletoe, Cull’d from the daisied banks of Tyne.

The chapel’s Saxon windows dight So artfully with boughs were drest, That tuneful birds, decoyed, would light, To build their temporary nest.

But now the yellow crocus flower Sprouts blooming on the breast of Spring, And blithe in every shady bower The minstrels of the forest sing;

While, Tyningham! thy chapel bell Is heard no more these shades among; For, Time, alas! has ceased to swell The saintly Baldred’s funeral song!