Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/302

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Warily, not to mar the monk's repose, He like a shadow to the table stole And drank a lusty bumper from the bowl With relish; through the window back he goes.

Then the good Zeno, waking, seized again The tankard, but amazed to find it bare, Drowsily shook his head, right well aware How deep a draught he ere his sleep had ta'en.

Then he feigned slumber craftily, and snored In token of sound sleep; the gnome had crept To drink, when up the monk in anger leapt, But as he seized his ear, with laughter roared:

"Thou rascal, thou misshapen imp of hell." "Hold, man of God," the gnome was whispering, His voice like withered leaves, "so small a thing Begrudge me not, when thou hast drunk go well."

"Rich recompense upon thee I will shower." Then loosing hold, "What say'st thou?" Zeno spake. And from that time, the gnome his thirst would slake From the monk's tankard in the self-same hour.

The years slipped by, the brothers passed away, But Zeno like a bloom-filled apple-tree, Though silvery-haired, felt not his years, but he Was still content and affable and gay.