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, "G.o.d 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: "G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed.

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 pa.s.sed the night in singing, praying, scourging, In honor of Sophia, that sweet virgin.

XIV.

[The episode of Sneezoff and Katinka.]

Leaving thus the pious priest in Humble penitence and prayer, And the greedy cits a-feasting, Let us to the walls repair.

Walking by the sentry-boxes, Underneath the silver moon, Lo! the sentry boldly c.o.c.ks his-- Boldly c.o.c.ks 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 m.u.f.fettee; 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 c.o.c.ks his Detonating musketoon.

He the bland canaster puffing, As upon his round he paces, Sudden sees a ragam.u.f.fin Clambering swiftly up the glacis.

"Who goes there?" exclaims the sentry; "When the sun has once gone down No one ever makes an entry Into this here fortified town!"

[How the sentrie Sneezoff was surprised and slayn.]

Shouted thus the watchful Sneezoff; But, ere any one replied, Wretched youth! he fired his piece off Started, staggered, groaned, and died!

XV.

[How the Cossacks rushed in suddenly and took the citie.]

Ah, full well might the sentinel cry, "Who goes there!"

But echo was frightened too much to declare.

Who goes there? who goes there? Can any one swear To the number of sands sur les bords de la mer, Or the whiskers of D'Orsay Count down to a hair?

As well might you tell of the sands the amount, Or number each hair in each curl of the Count, As ever proclaim the number and name Of the hundreds and thousands that up the wall came!

[Of the Cossack troops,]

Down, down the knaves poured with fire and with sword: There were thieves from the Danube and rogues from the Don; There were Turks and Wallacks, and shouting Cossacks; Of all nations and regions, and tongues and religions-- Jew, Christian, Idolater, Frank, Mussulman: Ah, horrible sight was Kioff that night!

[And of their manner of burning, murdering, and ravishing.]

The gates were all taken--no chance e'en of flight; And with torch and with axe the b.l.o.o.d.y Cossacks Went hither and thither a-hunting in packs: They slashed and they slew both Christian and Jew-- Women and children, they slaughtered them too.

Some, saving their throats, plunged into the moats, Or the river--but oh, they had burned all the boats!

[How they burned the whole citie down, save the church,]

But here let us pause--for I can't pursue further This scene of rack, ravishment, ruin, and murther.

Too well did the cunning old Cossack succeed!