The Palmer threw down his ginger gown, His hat and his cockle; and, plain to sight, Stood St. Nicholas' self, and his shaven crown Had a glow-worm halo of heavenly light. The fiend made a grasp the Abbot to clasp; But St. Nicholas lifted his holy toe, And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick On his elderly namesake, he made him let go. And out of the window he flew like a shot, For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack, And caught the foul demon about the spot Where his tail joins on to the small of his back. And he bounded away like a foot-ball at play, Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap, Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Belphegor, And Lucifer into Beëlzebub's lap. Oh! happy the slip from his Succubine grip, That saved the Lord Abbot,--though breathless with fright, In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip, And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right! * * * * * On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine, From a certain inn-window the traveler is shown Most picturesque ruins, the scene of these doings, Some miles up the river south-east of Cologne. And while "_sauer-kraut_" she sells you, the landlady tells you That there, in those walls all roofless and bare, One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one On filling a _ci-devant_ Abbot's state chair. How a _ci-devant_ Abbot, all clothed in drab, but Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt and no shoes (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing Laid aside), in yon cave lived a pious recluse; How he rose with the sun, limping "dot and go one," To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together; How a thirsty old codger the neighbors called Roger, With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine! What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine! And how, as their bodily strength failed, the mental man Gained tenfold vigor and force in all four; And how, to the day of their death, the "Old Gentleman" Never attempted to kidnap them more. And how, when at length, in the odor of sanctity, All of them died without grief or complaint, The monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous Not to suppose every one was a Saint. And how, in the Abbey, no one was so shabby As not to say yearly four masses ahead, On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead!