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He waited and waited from mid-day to dark;

But in vain-you might search through the whole of the church,

Not a layman, alas! to the city's disgrace,

From mid-day to dark showed his nose in the place.

The pew-woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad

Away in the streets with the other mad
people,

Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple
Wherever the drink might be had.

How he went forth to bid

them to prayer.

How the grooms and lackeys

jeered him.

XII.

Amidst this din and revelry throughout the city roaring,

The silver morn 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!

About the hall the scullions ran with meats both

fresh and potted;

The pages came with cup and can,

allotted;

all for the guests

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.

Around the table in a ring the guests were drink-
ing heavy;

They drunk the church, and drunk the king, and
the army and the
In fact they'd toasted every thing. The prior said

"God save ye!"

navy;

The mayor cried, "Bring a silver cup-there's one upon the beaufét;

And, prior, have the venison up-it's capital rechauffé.

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;

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

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!

How the prior

went back alone,

XIII.

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!

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.

Onward the fathers sped, till coming nigh a
Small iron gate, the which they entered quick at,
They locked and double-locked the inner wicket
And stood within the chapel of Sophia.
Vain were it to describe this sainted place,
Vain to describe that celebrated trophy,
The venerable statue of Saint Sophy,
Which formed its chiefest ornament and grace.

Here the good prior, his personal griefs and sorrows
In his extreme devotion quickly merging,

At once began to pray with voice sonorous;
The other friars joined in pious chorus,

And passed the night in singing, praying,
scourging,

In honour of Sophia, that sweet virgin.

And shut himself into Saint Sophia's chapel with his brethren.

XIV.

Leaving thus the pious priest in
Humble penitence and prayer,
And the greedy cits a-feasting,

Let us to the walls repair.

The episode of
Sneezoff and
Katinka.

Walking by the sentry-boxes,
Underneath the silver moon,
Lo! the sentry boldly cocks his-
Boldly cocks his musketoon.

Sneezoff was his designation,
Fair-haired boy, for ever pitied;
For to take his cruel station,

He but now Katinka quitted.

Poor in purse were both, but rich in
Tender love's delicious plenties;
She a damsel of the kitchen,
He a haberdasher's 'prentice.

'Tinka, maiden, tender-hearted
Was dissolved in tearful fits,
On that fatal night she parted
From her darling, fair-haired Fritz.

Warm her soldier lad she wrapt in
Comforter and muffetee;

Called him "general" and "captain,"
Though a simple private he.

"On your bosom wear this plaster, 'Twill defend you from the cold; In your pipe smoke this canaster, Smuggled 'tis, my love, and old.

"All the night, my love, I'll miss you."
Thus she spoke; and from the door
Fair-haired Sneezoff made his issue,
To return, alas, no more.

He it is who calmly walks his

Walk beneath the silver moon;

He it is who boldly cocks his

Detonating musketoon.

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