(SIXTEENTH CENTURY)
A LAMENT FOR OUR LADY'S SHRINE
AT WALSINGHAM
(In 1538 the shrine was stripped, and at Cromwell's orders the image of
Our Lady was sent by cart to Chelsea, and there publicly burned)
In the wrecks of Walsingham
Whom should I choose,
But the Queen of Walsingham
To be guide to my muse?
Then, thou Prince of Walsingham,
Grant me to frame
Bitter plaints to rue thy wrong,
Bitter woe for thy name.
Bitter was it, oh, to see
The silly sheep
Murdered by the ravening wolves,
While the shepherds did sleep.
Bitter was it, oh, to view
The sacred vine,
While the gardeners played all close,
Rooted up by the swine.
Bitter, bitter, oh, to behold
The grass to grow
Where the walls of Walsingham
So stately did show.
Such were the works of Walsingham,
While she did stand:
Such are the wrecks as now do show
Of that holy land.
Level, level with the ground
The towers do lie,
Which, with their golden glittering tops,
Pierced once the sky.
Where were gates, no gates are now:
The ways unknown
Where the press of peers did pass,
While her fame far was blown.
Owls do shriek, where the sweetest hymns
Lately were sung:
Toads and serpents hold their dens,
Where the palmers did throng.
Weep, weep, O Walsingham,
Whose days are nights:
Blessings turned to blasphemies,
Holy deeds to despites:
Sin is where our Lady sate;
Heaven turned is to hell:
Satan sits where our Lord did sway-
Walsingham, oh, farewell.
Author unknown
A Lament for Our Lady's Shrine at Walsingham (Sixteenth century) from the book, "I Sing of a Maiden The Mary Book of Verse" edited by Sister M Therese of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Divine Saviour. 1947. The MacMillan Company: New York. Pages 122-124
With thanks to youtube
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