Page:The Ingoldsby Legends (Frowde, 1905).pdf/194

 His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;

His eye so dim,

So wasted each limb,

That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, '—

That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!

That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!'

The poor little Jackdaw,

When the Monks he saw,

Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw;

And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say,

'Pray, be so good as to walk this way!'

Slower and slower

He limp'd on before,

Till they came to the back of the belfry door,

Where the first thing they saw,

Midst the sticks and the straw,

Was the in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book,

And off that terrible curse he took;

The mute expression

Served in lieu of confession,

And, being thus coupled with full restitution,

The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

—When those words were heard,

That poor little bird

Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd.

He grew sleek, and fat;

In addition to that,

A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!

His tail waggled more

Even than before;

But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air,

No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair.

He hopp'd now about

With a gait devout;

At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;

And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,

He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads.

If any one lied,—or if any one swore,—

Or slumber'd in pray'r-time and happen'd to snore,

That good Jackdaw

Would give a great 'Caw!'

As much as to say, 'Don't do so any more!'

While many remark'd, as his manners they saw,

That they 'never had known such a pious Jackdaw!'

He long lived the pride

Of that country side,

And at last in the odour of sanctity died;