 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
But time tries concord, as in winter weather
Jar the crack'd bells, and chime no more together:
Wrath looks the burgomaster at the clock,
And thinks his worship it doth basely mock,
But still with harsh and hollow clang it calls,
And crones bode evil to the echoing walls.
'Twas evil then, for back the poisoner came,
And they to meet him as in friendly game
Sprung up: “Than never better late,” they cried,
And with it dealt the stroke, and straight he died.
Right out his soul that stunning fiery blow
Sent forth to realms obscure, where spirits go.
And they the bottles caught and wasted not,
A blood-red stain their wicker case had got,
And then all reckless to their revel past;
Deeply they drank and many a main they cast:
Of their last day the minutes fleeted fast.
Drear through the shades the cold brook bubbled on,
The wind swept hoarsely o'er the darkened lawn,
They strove to rise, but all their power was gone.
Jar the crack'd bells, and chime no more together:
Wrath looks the burgomaster at the clock,
And thinks his worship it doth basely mock,
But still with harsh and hollow clang it calls,
And crones bode evil to the echoing walls.
'Twas evil then, for back the poisoner came,
And they to meet him as in friendly game
Sprung up: “Than never better late,” they cried,
And with it dealt the stroke, and straight he died.
Right out his soul that stunning fiery blow
Sent forth to realms obscure, where spirits go.
And they the bottles caught and wasted not,
A blood-red stain their wicker case had got,
And then all reckless to their revel past;
Deeply they drank and many a main they cast:
Of their last day the minutes fleeted fast.
Drear through the shades the cold brook bubbled on,
The wind swept hoarsely o'er the darkened lawn,
They strove to rise, but all their power was gone.
| Fra Cipolla, and other poems | |