"RASH HYACINTHUS!" (Here, to the astonishment of all her backers, Saint Sophy, opening wide her wooden jaws, Like to a pair of German walnut-crackers, Began), "I did not think you had been thus,-- O monk of little faith! Is it because A rascal scum of filthy Cossack heathen Besiege our town, that you distrust in ME, then? Think'st thou that I, who in a former day Did walk across the Sea of Marmora (Not mentioning, for shortness, other seas),-- That I, who skimmed the broad Borysthenes, Without so much as wetting of my toes, Am frightened at a set of men like THOSE? I have a mind to leave you to your fate: Such cowardice as this my scorn inspires." [But is interrupted by the breaking in of the Cossacks.] Saint Sophy was here Cut short in her words,-- For at this very moment in tumbled the gate, And with a wild cheer, And a clashing of swords, Swift through the church porches, With a waving of torches, And a shriek and a yell Like the devils of hell, With pike and with axe In rushed the Cossacks,-- In rushed the Cossacks, crying, "MURDER THE FRIARS!" [Of Hyacinth, his outrageous address;] Ah! what a thrill felt Hyacinth, When he heard that villanous shout Calmuc! Now, thought he, my trial beginneth; Saints, O give me courage and pluck! "Courage, boys, 'tis useless to funk!" Thus unto the friars he began: "Never let it be said that a monk Is not likewise a gentleman. Though the patron saint of the church, Spite of all that we've done and we've pray'd, Leaves us wickedly here in the lurch, Hang it, gentlemen, who's afraid!" [And preparation for dying.] As thus the gallant Hyacinthus spoke, He, with an air as easy and as free as If the quick-coming murder were a joke, Folded his robes around his sides, and took Place under sainted Sophy's legs of oak, Like Caesar at the statue of Pompeius. The monks no leisure had about to look (Each being absorbed in his particular case), Else had they seen with what celestial race A wooden smile stole o'er the saint's mahogany face. [Saint Sophia, her speech.] "Well done, well done, Hyacinthus, my son!" Thus spoke the sainted statue. "Though you doubted me in the hour of need, And spoke of me very rude indeed, You deserve good luck for showing such pluck, And I won't be angry at you." [She gets on the prior's shoulder straddle-back,] The monks by-standing, one and all, Of this wondrous scene beholders, To this kind promise listened content, And couldn't contain their astonishment, When Saint Sophia moved and went Down from her wooden pedestal, And twisted her legs, sure as eggs is eggs, Round Hyacinthus's shoulders! [And bids him run.]