The jealous churl hath deeply swore, That, if again he ventures o’er, He shall shrieve penitent no more. Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." XXIII. Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, And sweep at bowls the stake away. None can a lustier carol bawl, When time hangs heavy in the hall, And snow comes thick at Christmass tide, And we can neither hunt, nor ride The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude, Nephew," quoth Heron, "by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say." XXIV. "Here is a holy Palmer come, From Salem first, and last from Rome; And visited each holy shrine, In Araby and Palestine ; On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; The Mount, where Israel heard the law, And of that Grot where Olives nod, Saint Rosalie retired to God. XXV. "To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. He knows the passes of the North, And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; Little he eats, and long will wake, And drinks but of the stream or lake. This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; But, when our John hath quaffed his ale, As little as the wind that blows, And warms itself against his nose, Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." XXVI. "Gramercy," quoth Lord Marmion, "Full loth were I, that Friar John, That venerable man, for me, Were placed in fear, or jeopardy; If this same Palmer will me lead Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, With angels fair and good. I love such holy ramblers; still They know to charm a weary hill, They bring to cheer the way.” XXVII. Ah! noble sir," young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid, "This man knows much, perchance e'en more Than he could learn by holy lore. Still to himself he's muttering, And shrinks as at some unseen thing. Last night we listened at his cell; Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, He murmured on till morn, howe'er No living mortal could be near. As other voices spoke again. |