Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/63

44 “Nay, friend,” the other cries, “you are unjust; My heart is with you, and I pray you stay Until my mind breaks from the bonds of care That hold it now—a little more delay.

“Have you not heard the rumour that goes forth— The Pope is dying? Who shall fill his chair When he has passed all sainted to the grave? Peace, friend, until the occupant is there.”

The Pope within his chamber, deep in thought. Hears at his door a knock, and saying, “Come,” The student bends before him with reproach, “From all my knowledge you have picked no crumb.

“O Holiness! we had no feast of lore. But fortune came to you beneath my star. Then let me go, since me you do not wish, Now you are greater than all others are.”

“Old man,” the Pope replied,“ I let you go In pity of your age and fading hair, Whom I should prison in my dungeon deep For all the evil magic you did dare

“Reveal to me, who only sought your side To find your wickedness and give it light Go back into your wilderness, but leave Your ways of darkness. Get you from my sight.”

“O Holiness,” the student bent and said, “My son for whom you promised of your aid”; “Begone!” the Pope replied; “think not I should By son of you the Christian Church degrade.”

“I go, great Holiness, without a fee For all my time ; now but one boon I hold; To break my fast, I hunger as I go— Give me one meal, the way is long and cold.”