And red the light on the rafters shone,
And the last who spoke by that bogwood fire
Was Giles, of the three the only one
Whom care or grief had not lit upon;
But rosy and round, throughout city and shire
His mate for frolic and glee was none;
And soon he told how “A peasant’s son,
He was reared to the church by their former Prior!”
Three monks sat by a bogwood fire!
The moon look’d o’er all with clouded ray;