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Of shame and censure I efface ;
Remit the pains thou shouldst endure,
And make thee innocent and pure,
So that in dying, unto thee
The gates of heaven shall open be!
Though long thou livest, yet this grace
Until the moment of thy death
Then said he to the Priest : “I find
This document is duly signed
Brother John Tetzel, his own hand.
At all tribunals in the land
In evidence it may be used;
Therefore acquitted is the accused.”
Then to the cobbler turned : “ My friend,
Pray tell me, didst thou ever read
Reynard the Fox?" - "Oh yes, indeed!” u I thought so. Don't forget the end."
6 WHAT was the end ? I am ashamed
Not to remember Reynard's fate;
I have not read the book of late ;
Was he not hanged?” the Poet said.
The Student gravely shook his head,
And answered: “You exaggerate.
There was a tournament proclaimed,
And Reynard fought with Isegrim
The Wolf, and having vanquished him,
Rose to high honor in the State,
And Keeper of the Seals was named ! ”
At this the gay Sicilian laughed :
Fight fire with fire, and craft with craft;
Successful cunning seems to be
The moral of your tale,” said he.
“ Mine had a better, and the Jew's
Had none at all, that I could see;
His aim was only to amuse.”
Meanwhile from out its ebon case
His violin the Minstrel drew,
And having tuned its strings anew,
Now held it close in his embrace,
And poising in his outstretched hand
The bow, like a magician's wand,
He paused, and said, with beaming face :
“ Last night my story was too long ;
To-day I give you but a song,
An old tradition of the North ;
But first, to put you in the mood,
I will a little while prelude,
And from this instrument draw forth
Something by way of overture.”
He played ; at first the tones were pure
And tender as a summer night,
The full moon climbing to her height,
The sob and ripple of the seas,
The flapping of an idle sail ;
And then by sudden and sharp degrees
The multiplied, wild harmonies
Freshened and burst into a gale;
A tempest howling through the dark,
A crash as of some shipwrecked bark,
A loud and melancholy wail.
Such was the prelude to the tale
Told by the Minstrel; and at times
He paused amid its varying rhymes,
And at each pause again broke in
The music of his violin,
With tones of sweetness or of fear,
Movements of trouble or of calm,
Creating their own atmosphere;
As sitting in a church we hear
Between the verses of the psalm
The organ playing soft and clear,
Or thundering on the startled ear.
“ June 10, 1871. Finished Carmilhan [begun on the 7th). Only two more stories are wanted to complete the Second Day of the Wayside Inn."
Ar Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea,
Within the sandy bar,
At sunset of a summer's day,
Ready for sea, at anchor lay
The good ship Valdemar.
The sunbeams danced upon the waves,
And played along her side ;
And through the cabin windows streamed
In ripples of golden light, that seemed
The ripple of the tide.
There sat the captain with his friends,
Old skippers brown and hale, Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, And talked of iceberg and of fog,
Of calm and storm and gale.
And one was spinning a sailor's yarn
The Kobold of the sea; a spright
Invisible to mortal sight,
Who o'er the rigging ran.
Sometimes he hammered in the hold,
the mast, Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, Or at the bows he sang and laughed,
And made all tight and fast.
He helped the sailors at their work,
And toiled with jovial din ; He helped them hoist and reef the sails, He helped them stow the casks and bales,
And heave the anchor in.
But woe unto the lazy louts,
The idlers of the crew;
Them to torment was his delight,
And worry them by day and night,
And pinch them black and blue.
And woe to him whose mortal eyes
It is a certain sign of death!
The cabin-boy here held his breath,
He felt his blood run cold.
The jolly skipper paused awhile,
And then again began ; “ There is a Spectre Ship,” quoth he, “ A ship of the Dead that sails the sea,
And is called the Carmilhan.
“ A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew,
In tempests she appears;
And before the gale, or against the gale,
She sails without a rag of sail,
Without a helmsman steers.
“ She haunts the Atlantic north and south,
But mostly the mid-sea, Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare Like furnace chimneys in the air,
And are called the Chimneys Three.
“ And ill betide the luckless ship
That meets the Carmilhan; Over her decks the seas will leap, She must go down into the deep,
And perish mouse and man.'
The captain of the Valdemar
Laughed loud with
loud with merry heart. “I should like to see this ship,” said he; “I should like to find these Chimneys Three
That are marked down in the chart.