Tales of a Wayside Inn

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."