Page:Two Mock Epics (Hanuman and Tantum Religio), Lyrics, Post Meridian Verse, The Turret Captain's Toast and other Verses.pdf/96

 Hark! still the sinews snap and hiss

In the dread heat, and still he groans.

But, curse the apostate! now how faintly,

The game’s up.” Swift the fingers saintly

A handle grasp. The walls clap tight.

Not otherwise the wall of noses

And knees indignant scour the square,

Converging furibond to where,

Shorn of its eloquence and bare,

Nor longer resonant, reposes

The Calvinistic tub, for there

No Boanerges smites the air

With winged words, but like a hare

Skips nimbly o’er the wine-dark cobbles,

While slow behind the wine tub wobbles,

Swung by his young Bregallian giant,

Who stone by stone disputes defiant

Each inch of ground, and dares the van.

As swift, more swift, the holy man

Skims like a scopperel down the wind,

His broad bands fluttering far behind,

And black robes bellying unconfined.

Dodging and doubling left and right,

Excogitating rapid flight,

His twinkling feet, in swift retreat,

E’en thus had scarcely gained the street

Ere the gross mob the entrance blocked

And past the lamp-post surged and rocked.

Here Blasius, breathless, tripped and reeled,

A moment more his fate had sealed;