Part 12 (1/2)

”St Cuthman stood on a point which crowns The entire range of the grand South Downs; Beneath his feet, like a giant field, Was stretched the expanse of the Suss.e.x Weald.

'Suppose,' said the Saint,''twas the will of Heaven To cause this range of hills to be riven, And what were the use of prayers and whinings, Were the sea to flood the village of Poynings: 'Twould be fine, no doubt, these Downs to level, But to do such a thing I defy the Devil!'

St Cuthman, tho' saint, was a human creature, And his eye, a bland and benevolent feature, Remarked the approach of the close of day, And he thought of his supper, and turned away.

Walking fast, he Had scarcely pa.s.sed the First steps of his way, when he saw something nasty; 'Twas tall and big, And he saw from its rig 'Twas the Devil in full diabolical fig.

There were wanting no proofs, For the horns and the hoofs And the tail were a fully convincing sight; But the heart of the Saint Ne'er once turned faint, And his halo shone with redoubled light.

'Hallo, I fear You're trespa.s.sing here!'

Said St Cuthman, 'To me it is perfectly clear, If you talk of the devil, he's sure to appear!'

'With my spade and my pick I am come,' said old Nick, 'To prove you've no power o'er a demon like me.

I'll show you my power-- Ere the first morning hour Thro' the Downs, over Poynings, shall roll in the sea.'

'I'll give you long odds,'

Cried the Saint, 'by the G.o.ds!

I'll stake what you please, only say what your wish is.'

Said the devil, 'By Jove!

You're a sporting old cove!

My pick to your soul, I'll make such a hole, That where Poynings now stands, shall be swimming the fishes.'

'Done!' cried the Saint, 'but I must away I have a penitent to confess; In an hour I'll come to see fair play-- In truth I cannot return in less.

My bet will be won ere the first bright ray Heralds the ascension of the day.

If I lose!--there will be _the devil to pay!_'

He descended the hill with a firm quick stride, Till he reached a cell which stood on the side; He knocked at the door, and it opened wide,-- He murmured a blessing and walked inside.

Before him he saw a tear-stained face Of an elderly maiden of elderly grace; Who, when she beheld him, turned deadly pale, And drew o'er her features a nun's black veil.

'Holy father!' she said, 'I have one sin more, Which I should have confessed sixty years before!

I have broken my vows--'tis a terrible crime!

I have loved _you_, oh father, for all that time!

My pa.s.sion I cannot subdue, tho' I try!

Shrive me, oh father! and let me die!'

'Alas, my daughter,' replied the Saint, 'One's desire is ever to do what one mayn't, There was once a time when I loved you, too, I have conquered my pa.s.sion, and why shouldn't you?

For penance I say, You must kneel and pray For hours which will number seven; Fifty times say the rosary, (Fifty, 'twill be a poser, eh?) But by it you'll enter heaven; As each hour doth pa.s.s, Turn the hour gla.s.s, Till the time of midnight's near; On the stroke of midnight This taper light, Your conscience will then be clear.'

He left the cell, and he walked until He joined Old Nick on the top of the hill.

It was five o'clock, and the setting sun Showed the work of the Devil already begun.

St Cuthman was rather fatigued by his walk, And caring but little for brimstone talk, He watched the pick crash through layers of chalk.

And huge blocks went over and splitting asunder Broke o'er the Weald like the cras.h.i.+ng of thunder.

St Cuthman wished the first hour would pa.s.s, When St Ursula, praying, reversed the gla.s.s.

'Ye legions of h.e.l.l!' the Old Gentleman cried, 'I have such a terrible st.i.tch in the side!'

'Don't work so hard,' said the Saint, 'only see, The sides of your d.y.k.e a heap smoother might be.'

'Just so,' said the Devil, 'I've had a sharp fit, So, resting, I'll trim up my crevice a bit.'

St Cuthman was looking prodigiously sly, He knew that the hours were slipping by.

'Another attack!

I've cramp at my back!

I've needles and pins From my hair to my s.h.i.+ns!

I tremble and quail From my horns to my tail!

I will not be vanquished, I'll work, I say, This d.y.k.e shall be finished ere break of day!'

'If you win your bet, 'twill be fairly earned,'

Said the Saint, and again was the hour-gla.s.s turned.