Quite frighten’d, he fell on his knees,
And said thirteen aves and ten credos,
When the thing in the tree gave a sneeze,
And out popp’d a hand, and then three toes:
Now, when he got out of his faint,
He approach’d, with demeanour most humble,
And what should he see but the saint,
Not a copper the worse from his tumble,
But lying all sound wind and limb.
4.
Says the prior, “From whence did you come,
Or how got you into my garden?”
But the baby said nothing but mum—
And for the priest car’d not a farden:
At length, the saint open’d his gob,
And said, “I’m from heaven, d’ye see, sir.
Now don’t stand there scratching your nob,
But help me down out of the tree, sir,
Or I’ll soon set your convent a-blaze!”
5.
The prior stood quite in a maze,
To hear such an infant so queerly call,
So, humbling himself, he gave praise
To our lady for so great a miracle:
Saint Giles from the bush then he took,
And led him away to the priory;
Where for years he stuck close to his book,
A holie and sanctified friar, he
Was thought by the good folks all round.
6.
In sanctity he pass’d his days,
Once or twice exorcis’d a demoniac;
And, to quiet his doubts and his fears,
Applied to a flask of old Cogniac;
To heaven he show’d the road fair,
And, if he saw sinner look glum or sad,
He’d tell him to drive away care,
And say, “Take a swig of good rum, my lad,
And it will soon give your soul ease.”
7.
In miracles too the saint dealt,
And some may be seen to this minute;
At his bidding he’d make a rock melt,
Tho’ Saint Sathanas might be in it:
One evening when rambling out,
He found himself stopp’d by the river,
So he told it to turn round about,
And let him go quietly over,
And the river politely complied!