But the eldest monk soon broke the spell;
"'Tis sin and shame," quoth he,
"To be turned from talk of holy things
By a bird's cry from a tree.
"Perchance the Enemy of Souls
Hath come to tempt us so.
Let us try by the power of the Awful Word
If it be he, or no!"
To Heaven the three monks raised their hands
"We charge thee, speak!" they said,
"By His dread Name who shall one day come
To judge the quick and the dead,—
"Who art thou? Speak!" The bird laughed loud
"I am the Devil," he said.
The monks on their faces fell, the bird
Away through the twilight sped.
A horror fell on those holy men,
(The faithful legends say,)
And one by one from the face of earth
They pined and vanished away.
IV.
So goes the tale of the monkish books,
The moral who runs may read,—
He has no ears for Nature's voice
Whose soul is the slave of creed.
Not all in vain with beauty and love
Has God the world adorned;
And he who Nature scorns and mocks,
By Nature is mocked and scorned.
The Enchanted Shirt
Fytte the First: wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too mighty
a Drug for such as he of feeble temper.