Golden Numbers Part 64

Low kneel'd that holy Abbot When the dawn was waxing clear; And he pray'd with loving-kindness For his convent brethren dear.

Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot, When the dawn was waxing bright; He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, He pray'd with all his might.

Low kneel'd that good old father, While the sun began to dart; He pray'd a prayer for all mankind, He pray'd it from his heart.

II

The Abbot of Inisfalen Arose upon his feet; He heard a small bird singing, And, oh, but it sung sweet!

He heard a white bird singing well Within a holly-tree; A song so sweet and happy Never before heard he.

It sung upon a hazel, It sung upon a thorn; He had never heard such music Since the hour that he was born.

It sung upon a sycamore, It sung upon a briar; To follow the song and hearken This Abbot could never tire.

Till at last he well bethought him He might no longer stay; So he bless'd the little white singing-bird, And gladly went his way.

III

But when he came to his Abbey walls, He found a wondrous change; He saw no friendly faces there, For every face was strange.

The strangers spoke unto him; And he heard from all and each The foreign tone of the Sa.s.senach, Not wholesome Irish speech.

Then the oldest monk came forward, In Irish tongue spake he: "Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, And who hath given it to thee?"

"I wear the holy Augustine's dress, And Cormac is my name, The Abbot of this good Abbey By grace of G.o.d I am.

"I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; And when my prayers were said, I hearkened awhile to a little bird That sung above my head."

The monks to him made answer, "Two hundred years have gone o'er, Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, And never was heard of more.

"Matthias now is our Abbot, And twenty have pa.s.sed away.

The stranger is lord of Ireland; We live in an evil day."

IV

"Now give me absolution; For my time is come," said he.

And they gave him absolution As speedily as might be.

Then, close outside the window, The sweetest song they heard That ever yet since the world began Was uttered by any bird.

The monks looked out and saw the bird, Its feathers all white and clean; And there in a moment, beside it, Another white bird was seen.

Those two they sung together, Waved their white wings, and fled; Flew aloft, and vanished; But the good old man was dead.

They buried his blessed body Where lake and greensward meet; A carven cross above his head, A holly-bush at his feet;

Where spreads the beautiful water To gay or cloudy skies, And the purple peaks of Killarney From ancient woods arise.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

_The Cavalier's Escape_

Trample! trample! went the roan, Trap! trap! went the gray; But pad! _pad!_ PAD! like a thing that was mad, My chestnut broke away.

It was just five miles from Salisbury town, And but one hour to day.

Thud! THUD! came on the heavy roan, Rap! RAP! the mettled gray; But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, That she showed them all the way.

Spur on! spur on!--I doffed my hat, And wished them all good-day.

They splashed through miry rut and pool,-- Splintered through fence and rail; But chestnut Kate switched over the gate,-- I saw them droop and tail.

To Salisbury town--but a mile of down, Once over this brook and rail.

Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs Past the walls of mossy stone; The roan flew on at a staggering pace, But blood is better than bone.

I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, For I knew it was all my own.

But trample! trample! came their steeds, And I saw their wolf's eyes burn; I felt like a royal hart at bay, And made me ready to turn.

I looked where highest grew the May, And deepest arched the fern.

I flew at the first knave's sallow throat; One blow, and he was down.

The second rogue fired twice, and missed; I sliced the villain's crown,-- Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, _Fast, fast to Salisbury town!_

Pad! pad! they came on the level sward, Thud! thud! upon the sand,-- With a gleam of swords and a burning match, And a shaking of flag and hand; But one long bound, and I pa.s.sed the gate, Safe from the canting band.

WALTER THORNBURY.

_The Pied Piper of Hamelin_

I

Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The River Weser, deep and wide, Washes its walls on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity.

II

Rats!

They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

III

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy, "And as for our Corporation--shocking "To think we buy gowns lined with ermine "For dolts that can't or won't determine "What's best to rid us of our vermin!

"You hope, because you're old and obese, "To find in the furry civic robe ease?

"Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking "To find the remedy we're lacking, "Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"

At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV

An hour they sate in Council; At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; "I wish I were a mile hence!