Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Second/The Poet's Tale/Interlude

Well pleased the audience heard the tale.: The Theologian said: "Indeed, To praise you there is little need; One almost hears the farmers flail Thresh out your wheat, nor does there fail A certain freshness, as you said, And sweetness as of home-made bread. But not less sweet and not less fresh Are many legends that I know, Writ by the monks of long-ago, Who loved to mortify the flesh, So that the soul might purer grow, And rise to a diviner state; And one of these--perhaps of all Most beautiful--I now recall, And with permission will narrate; Hoping thereby to make amends For that grim tragedy of mine, As strong and black as Spanish wine, I told last night, and wish almost It had remained untold, my friends; For Torquemada's awful ghost Came to me in the dreams I dreamed, And in the darkness glared and gleamed Like a great lighthouse on the coast."

The Student laughing said: "Far more Like to some dismal fire of bale Flaring portentous on a hill; Or torches lighted on a shore By wreckers in a midnight gale. No matter; be it as you will, Only go forward with your tale."