Each dint upon his batter'd shield "Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold, Such- and the hope of Tekla's smile! "Joy to the fair! whose constant knight Where meet the bright and noble train; "Note well her smile! it edged the blade When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow? "Joy to the fair! my name unknown, I feel the north breeze chill as death; And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." During this performance the hermit demeaned himself much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. He reclined back upon his seat with his eyes half shut; now folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbed in attention, and anon, balancing his expanded palms, he gently flourished them in time to the music. At one or two favourite cadences he threw in a little assistance of his own, where the knight's voice seemed unable to carry the air so high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song was ended, the anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung. "And yet," said he, "I think my Saxon countrymen had herded long enough with the Normans to fall into the tone of their melancholy ditties. What took the honest knight from home? or what could he expect but to find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on his return, and his serenade, as they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, to the success of all true lovers. I fear you are none," he added, on observing that the knight, whose brain began to be heated with these repeated draughts, qualified his flagon from the water pitcher. "Why," said the knight, "did you not tell me that this water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dunstan?" "Ay, truly," said the hermit, "and many a hundred of pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank any of it. Everything should be put to its proper use in this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, the prerogatives of a jovial friar." And so saying, he reached the harp and entertained his guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort of derry-down chorus, appropriate to an old English ditty: THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, And is brought home at evensong prick't through with a spear, I confess him in haste- for his lady desires No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. N Your monarch! Pshaw! many a prince has been known But which of us e'er felt the idle desire To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar! The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone, He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot, Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, "By my troth," said the knight, "thou hast sung well, and lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And talking of the devil, Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he may pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes?" 66 "I uncanonical!" answered the hermit; "I scorn the charge I scorn it with my heels! I serve the duty of my chapel duly and truly. Two masses daily, morning and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos, paters "Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in season," said his guest. "Exceptis excipiendis," replied the hermit, "as our old abbot taught me to say, when impertinent laymen should ask me if I kept every punctilio of mine order." "True, holy father," said the knight; "but the devil is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, thou knowest, like a roaring lion." |