Firmly on the aged prelate . . .
And the latter, wine excited
Asked him in a voice that quivered:
"By what right, my nightly comrade,
By what right you call me brother?"
Hideously sneered the Satan
And began his lengthy answer:
"Night is long, I say, my brother,
And perhaps I'll entertain you.
I know well an old, old story
And if you'll but hear me fully
You shall know why you're my brother.
Night is long, and next time, maybe,
I shall try in vain escaping
From St. Michael's yoke of lightning.
Well, then hear me! . . . fill a goblet,
Night is long and I am thirsty! . . ."
Once again clanged wine-filled goblets
And the Satan spun his story:
"Far beyond the seas and mountains,
Many years since then elapsing,
On their father's ancient castle
Peacefully, two heirs resided,
Lived in concord, two blood-brothers.
Older of the two was master,
Hunted in the hillside forests,
62
