Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - The Norman Baron lyrics

In his chamber, weak and dying, Was the Norman baron lying; Loud, without, the tempest thundered And the castle-turret shook, In this fight was d**h the gainer, Spite of va**al and retainer, And the lands his sires had plundered, Written in the Doomsday Book. By his bed a monk was seated, Who in humble voice repeated Many a prayer and pater-noster, From the missal on his knee; And, amid the tempest pealing, Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, Bells, that from the neighboring kloster Rang for the Nativity. In the hall, the serf and va**al Held, that night their Christmas wa**ail; Many a carol, old and saintly, Sang the minstrels and the waits; And so loud these Saxon gleemen Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, That the storm was heard but faintly, Knocking at the castle-gates. Till at length the lays they chanted Reached the chamber terror-haunted, Where the monk, with accents holy, Whispered at the baron's ear. Tears upon his eyelids glistened, As he paused awhile and listened, And the dying baron slowly Turned his weary head to hear. "Wa**ail for the kingly stranger Born and cradled in a manger! King, like David, priest, like Aaron, Christ is born to set us free!" And the lightning showed the sainted Figures on the casement painted, And exclaimed the shuddering baron, "Miserere, Domine!" In that hour of deep contrition He beheld, with clearer vision, Through all outward show and fashion, Justice, the Avenger, rise. All the pomp of earth had vanished, Falsehood and deceit were banished, Reason spake more loud than pa**ion, And the truth wore no disguise. Every va**al of his banner, Every serf born to his manor, All those wronged and wretched creatures, By his hand were freed again. And, as on the sacred missal He recorded their dismissal, d**h relaxed his iron features, And the monk replied, "Amen!" Many centuries have been numbered Since in d**h the baron slumbered By the convent's sculptured portal, Mingling with the common dust: But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust