Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/302

 

Warily, not to mar the monk's repose,
He like a shadow to the table stole
And drank a lusty bumper from the bowl
With relish; through the window back he goes.

Then the good Zeno, waking, seized again
The tankard, but amazed to find it bare,
Drowsily shook his head, right well aware
How deep a draught he ere his sleep had ta'en.

Then he feigned slumber craftily, and snored
In token of sound sleep; the gnome had crept
To drink, when up the monk in anger leapt,
But as he seized his ear, with laughter roared:

"Thou rascal, thou misshapen imp of hell."
"Hold, man of God," the gnome was whispering,
His voice like withered leaves, "so small a thing
Begrudge me not, when thou hast drunk go well."

"Rich recompense upon thee I will shower."
Then loosing hold, "What say'st thou?" Zeno spake.
And from that time, the gnome his thirst would slake
From the monk's tankard in the self-same hour.

The years slipped by, the brothers passed away,
But Zeno like a bloom-filled apple-tree,
Though silvery-haired, felt not his years, but he
Was still content and affable and gay.