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In one vast, roaring broadside, just as,
Thus welcomed by devotion’s busters
The host or lowly Nazarene—
A wooden effigy, bedecked
With star-flecked robes of blue and green,
Striped red, the climax of the scene
Swept, staggering o’er the crowd, erect
On four well-padded cruppers sturdy,
Preceded by a hurdy-gurdy
Grinding out waltzes from Waldteufel.
Next came the village band, a trifle
In drink, and a superb costume,
But struggling bravely—boum! boum! boum!
With Sullivan’s Mikado blended
With reminiscences of Verdi.
More in the middle tramp in sight
A file of priests in blue and white-
Lace tippets and red skull-caps tight,
Decanting forth from lungs stentorian
A chant, half-Afric, half-Gregorian,
By a long line of choir-boys followed
In crimson cassocks and white collared
Who, with shrill trebles, intertwined
A tarantella, while behind
The street boys crossed themselves and hollo’d
In different keys, and every angle
Rang with applause and crowned the jangle—
A mode of doing one’s devotions
Not consonant with northern notions;
Most efficacious, though, to tether
The flock of Church in southern weather
And keep its rambling sheep together:
