It was a dark night, the waters were gloomy, the banks of the river seemed in mourning, the clouds looked as if they were gathering to weep, and save the wild note of the curlew as the torch-light disturbed her upon the ooze, one mile down the river, all was profoundly mournful. De Freston's men were well acquainted with the river, and as the lights from the town began to grow dim, and the sound of the tolling bells distant, and their oars were muffled, a solemn stillness made a feeling of awe creep over their frames, as they thought of the hermit whom they were escorting to his last cave. As they passed the long hanging wood which bent to the waters, then termed Long Island, since corrupted into Hog Island, the startled cormorants rose in succession from their roosting-places, and filled the air with their hoarse chaunt. Darker and darker grew the banks, and still darker spread the clouds above, as the train swept slowly along. The distant turrets of Alneshborne Priory became visible, and soon after torches were seen to glare upon the waters' edge; and the fraternity of monks were visible awaiting the arrival of the funeral. As the boats approached the sandy strand against the creek of Alneshborne, the whole brotherhood assembled to receive the monks of St. Peter's and Lord De Freston; and along the shore a solemn chaunt arose from the choristers as the men eased down the coffin of St. Ivan from the deck of the barge. Chaunt. Holy brethren, we are come Here to bring St. Ivan home; Take him, take him, holy men, As St. Peter's denizen. Alma Mater! Sancte Pater! En et ecce! Ecce en! Holy brethren! now we mourn, Hear us, monks of Alneshborne! Take St. Ivan, take him then, For St. Peter's denizen. Alma Mater! Sancte Pater! En et ecce! Ecce en! Holy brethren! pity take, For the Great St. Peter's sake; Lay St. Ivan in your glen, As St. Peter's denizen. Alma Mater! Sancte Pater! En et ecce! Ecce en! The venerable brethren received Lord De Freston and the mourners with due solemnity, and made the following response to the chaunt of St. Peter's priests. The Response. Welcome, welcome, to our shrine, Here St. Ivan may recline; Bring him onward, on his way, Holy friars of orders gray. Ora! ora! Sine Morâ! For St. Ivan, brothers, pray. Here the saint shall taste repose, Here the tomb shall o'er him close. Whilst we sing his resting lay, Holy friar of orders gray! Ora! ora! Sine Morâ! For St. Ivan we will pray. Welcome he who comes in peace, Here his honours shall not cease; We will chaunt them night and day, Bear him, brothers, on his way. Ora! ora! Sine Morâ! Thus we chaunt St. Ivan's lay.