FullReads

XII.

[How he went forth to bid them to prayer.]

Amidst this din and revelry throughout the city roaring,
The silver moon rose silently, and high in heaven soaring;
Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring:
“Towards my precious patroness this conduct sure unfair is;
I cannot think, I must confess, what keeps the dignitaries
And our good mayor away, unless some business them contraries.”
He puts his long white mantle on and forth the prior sallies–
(His pious thoughts were bent upon good deeds and not on malice):
Heavens! how the banquet lights they shone about the mayor’s palace!

[How the grooms and lackeys jeered him.]

About the hall the scullions ran with meats both and fresh and
potted;
The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests allotted;
Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as up the stairs he trotted!

He entered in the ante-rooms where sat the mayor’s court in;
He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and a-sporting;
The horrid wine and ‘bacco fumes, they set the prior a-snorting!
The prior thought he’d speak about their sins before he went hence,
And lustily began to shout of sin and of repentance;
The rogues, they kicked the prior out before he’d done a sentence!

And having got no portion small of buffeting and tussling,
At last he reached the banquet-hall, where sat the mayor a-
guzzling,
And by his side his lady tall dressed out in white sprig muslin.

[And the mayor, mayoress, and aldermen, being tipsie refused to go
church.]

Around the table in a ring the guests were drinking heavy;
They’d drunk the church, and drunk the king, and the army and the
navy;
In fact they’d toasted everything. The prior said, “God save ye!”

The mayor cried, “Bring a silver cup–there’s one upon the beaufet;
And, Prior, have the venison up–it’s capital rechauffe.
And so, Sir Priest, you’ve come to sup? And pray you, how’s Saint
Sophy?”
The prior’s face quite red was grown, with horror and with anger;
He flung the proffered goblet down–it made a hideous clangor;
And ‘gan a-preaching with a frown–he was a fierce haranguer.

He tried the mayor and aldermen–they all set up a-jeering:
He tried the common-councilmen–they too began a-sneering;
He turned towards the may’ress then, and hoped to get a hearing.
He knelt and seized her dinner-dress, made of the muslin snowy,
“To church, to church, my sweet mistress!” he cried; “the way I’ll
show ye.”
Alas, the lady-mayoress fell back as drunk as Chloe!

XIII.

[How the prior went back alone.]

Out from this dissolute and drunken court
Went the good prior, his eyes with weeping dim:
He tried the people of a meaner sort–
They too, alas, were bent upon their sport,
And not a single soul would follow him!
But all were swigging schnaps and guzzling beer.

He found the cits, their daughters, sons, and spouses,
Spending the live-long night in fierce carouses:
Alas, unthinking of the danger near!
One or two sentinels the ramparts guarded,
The rest were sharing in the general feast:
“God wot, our tipsy town is poorly warded;
Sweet Saint Sophia help us!” cried the priest.

Alone he entered the cathedral gate,
Careful he locked the mighty oaken door;
Within his company of monks did wait,
A dozen poor old pious men–no more.
Oh, but it grieved the gentle prior sore,
To think of those lost souls, given up to drink and fate!

[And shut himself into Saint Sophia’s chapel with his brethren.]

The mighty outer gate well barred and fast,
The poor old friars stirred their poor old bones,
And pattering swiftly on the damp cold stones,
They through the solitary chancel passed.
The chancel walls looked black and dim and vast,
And rendered, ghost-like, melancholy tones.