And bat-wings dingy that fluttered and played
About St. Gladstone through light and through shade,
Till they made the Saint perspire.
And another one came apparalled
In silk and velvet stuff,
With a sort of tiara upon its head,
And a shadowy alb, and a ghostly cope,
And a scowl of anger, and fear, and hope
Upon a phiz that seemed carven from soap;
And the row it raised,