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55
An Irish Priest
Big was this Priest and dark (few priests are fair),His brows were thick, his eyes kept ambush there,
His straight black skirt reach'd far below the knee,
His band was clean, a broad brimm'd hat wore he;
He seldom spoke, and gravely; on his face
No smile diffused a transitory grace,
A scrap of rigid whisker, leaving bleak
The expanse below, stopp'd short on either cheek;
Large head was his, large chest, much snuff he took
And often carried in his hand a book.
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