At last, but in a voice subdued, Not to disturb their dreamy mood, Said the Sicilian: “While you spoke, Telling your legend marvellous, Suddenly in my memory woke The thought of one, now gone from us,— An old Abate, meek and mild, My friend and teacher, when a child, Who sometimes in those days of old The legend of an Angel told, Which ran, as I remember, thus.” THE SICILIAN’S TALE KING ROBERT OF SICILY Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John’s eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat, And as he listened, o’er and o’er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, “Deposuit potentes De sede, et exaltavit humiles;” And slowly lifting up his kingly head He to a learned clerk beside him said, “What mean these words?” The clerk made answer meet, “He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree.” Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, “’T is well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; For unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne!” And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. When he awoke, it was already night; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, Lighted a little space before some saint. He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound. He groped towards the door, but it was locked; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints. The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. At length the sexton, hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern, asking, “Who is there?” Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, “Open: ’tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?” The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, “This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!” Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, But leaped into the blackness of the night, And vanished like a spectre from his sight.