IV.

The night was long, the weather cold; A Minstrel, neither young nor old, Whose ragged coat and shoes in holes Wrung pity from those monkish souls, Entered the Abbey’s lower hall, Whence, duteous to the Abbot’s call, He brought himself and harp upstairs And ’gan show off his Scottish airs. It was a charity to bring Such warbler in the place to sing. St. Fillan gave him ample cheer And copious draughts of home-made beer, Till, while that inspiration work’d, This music from the wires he jerk’d:――