Page:Satanella (1932).pdf/78

 They had found him, as if sleeping,

Dead among the cloister ruins

And they saw beneath the moonbeams

Saw the grave the gypsies made him,

O'er the grave, bitterly weeping,

Dusky child, a barefoot maiden

With a braid of pitch-black tresses

Quickly 'neath red 'kerchief gathered

And in gaily colored bodice,

As if breathed tender body

I have finished now my story,

In your mind you'll find the balance.

Time is calling, I'm returning

'neath St. Michael's yoke of lightning.

Elsewhere we shall meet tomorrow!"

Once again with solemn footsteps

Walked the Satan without rustling,

Without shadow clambered upward

Laid beneath the foot of Cherub,

With left hand his features covered

And as formerly, self-guarding,

Raised his shield with eight sharp edges.

But upon his horrid features

So much pain and so much sorrow,

That the prelate thought he saw there