Loudly they talked of his money that's gone, Slowly and sadly we all walked down From his room in the uppermost story; A rush light was placed in the cold hearth-stone; The Jackdaw of Rheims THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! Many a knight and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree In sooth, a goodly company; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. Never, I ween, Was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims! In and out Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there, Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, He perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat Of his Lordship's grace, With a satisfied look, as if he would say, As such freaks they saw, Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!" The feast was over, the board was cleared, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Two nice little boys, rather more grown, A napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight His costly turquoise, And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out; The friars are kneeling, And hunting and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-coloured shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps and he feels, In the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates, They examine the mugs— They can't find THE RING! And the Abbot declared that when nobody twigged it, Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it." The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book! In holy anger and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!— Never was heard such a terrible curse! But, what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse! The day was gone, The night came on, The monks and the friars they searched till dawn; When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw; No longer gay, As on yesterday; His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way; His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried "THAT'S HIM! That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!" The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw, And turned his bald head, as much as to say, "Pray be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower He limped on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry door, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the RING in the nest of that little Jackdaw! Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book, The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution, When these words were heard, That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd; |