The season's fret and urge are o'er,
Its tide is loitering on the shore;
Make thy contentment mine!
FOOTNOTE:
[6] By permission of Harper & Bros., publishers, and the author.
THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS
R. H. BARHAM
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and abbot and prior were there;
Many a monk, and many a friar,
Many a knight, and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,--
In sooth, a goodly company;
And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.
Never, I ween, was a prouder seen,
Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!
In and out through the motley rout,
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about:
Here and there, like a dog in a fair,
Over comfits and cates, and dishes and plates,
Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,
Miter and crosier! he hopped upon all.
With a saucy air, he perched on the chair
Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat,
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;
And he peered in the face
Of his Lordship's Grace,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
"We two are the greatest folks here to-day!"
And the priests with awe, as such freaks they saw,
Said, "The deuce must be in that little Jackdaw!"
The feast was over, the board was cleared,
The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,
And six little singing-boys--dear little souls
In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles--
Came, in order due, two by two,
Marching that grand refectory through!
A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
Embossed and filled with water, as pure
As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,
Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.
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