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Scarce from far corners caught the text,
So loud the beat of gathering feet
From rearward trampling down the street
And shuffling forward till, at last,
No longer proof ’gainst these attacks
The foremost line of arms and backs
Gave way, and all, a torrent vast,
Like swirling rookeries in a storm
Eddying concentric round their elms,
The dusky market overwhelms,
As towards the centre drift and swarm
The motley hosts to form a crater
Round that erupting prêtre or prater.
Silent awhile at first they listen,
Till slow, but surely, access gains
To water-logged, thick-witted brains,
Some inkling of the preacher’s meaning.
Then eyes began to gleam and glisten
And hands to twitch, that overweening
Blasphemous heretic to chastise:
Some toward the rushing Mallero cast eyes
Of longing, some for firewood hankered;
Some drowned their feelings in a tankard;
Those imprecate with words articulate,
These hiccough oaths, and all gesticulate;
And one, a lank, long-fingered fellow,
With hatchet face and cheek-bones yellow,
And eyes cerulean, somewhat haggard,
And rabbit-mouth and accents mellow,—
A sort of spider-monkey blackguard,—
Mounted a stall, and shrill and fast
Piped out a Popish counterblast
