Staunton Spectator

POETRY.

FOR THE SPECTATOR,

ST. ANTHONY'S RACE,

A story of Old Nick and the Wonderworker, respectfully dedicated to the author of the "Fathers of the Desert" by his obedient servant,

Saint Anthony sat in his cave 'neath the rock

With a dinner of herbs set before him,

When a horrible grunt gave his nerves such a shock

That it made the cold shivers run o'er him—

So he peeped round his cell

Till his sacred eyes fell

On the spot whence the grunting proceeded,

There stood a huge hog

('Twas the Devil incog)

In his door, and all exit impeded.

And Ugh! Ugh!! Ugh!!! went the ugly beast,

While his flaming eyes fearfully glaring,

Like the eyes of a glutton devouring a feast,

On his saintship kept greedily staring-

But when Tony tried

To push him outside,

On his hind-legs he rose to oppose him,

And the Saint 'gan to quail

When he saw his long tail,

And began by the brimstone to nose him.

But plucking up courage, St. Anthony cried;

"I know thee, thou spirit of evil!

For spite all the shapes that thou ever hast tried,

Thou hast shown thou art ever the Devil."

When Beelzebub found

He was known, with a bound

He sprang at the Saint to attack him

But sideways he jumped,

And Apollyon thumped

His noddle, and hard did it whack him.

With speed slipped St. Anthony out of the door,

His chance for escape was but narrow,

And never did holy man run so before,

For he shot away swift as an arrow-

So skipped along he,

Like the Irishman's flea,

Though you looked for him ne'er could you find him

So quick out of sight

Was the luckless poor wight,

For the Devil himself was behind him.

And there he was, pressing him hard in the rear

For now had the great evil worker

Thought best in his own nimble shape to appear,

And had doffed his disguise of a porker-

All his fingers were claws,

And his viper-fanged jaws

Belched fire like the stack of a steamer,

And he travelled so fast,

That his tail, as he past.

Stuck out in the wind like a streamer.

O'er field and through forest, o'er mountain and plain,

Each nerve in the mighty race plying,

The Devil and Anthony tugged might and main,

While everything near them seemed flying-

They cleared with a jump

Each bush and each stump.

But the ground they ran o'er was so stony;

That though! Satan's hoof

Was abundantly tough,

Sore cut were the soles of poor Tony.

The Saint streaked it faster, afraid of his grab,

For he felt the air warmer and warmer,

His eyes stuck out straight like the eyes of a crab,

His hair like the porcupine's armor;

But he once looked behind,

When a blast of hot wind

From the jaws of the terrible "varmint,"

Singed off all his beard,

And face and neck seared,

And burnt off his back every garment.

Then luckily spied he a city ahead-

As he neared man's abodes he now feared less-

So up to the gates Holy Anthony sped,

Broken-winded and naked and beardless;

And quick popping through,

He pushed the gate to,

And thought he'd "done" Satan quite clever;

But Nick's jump'd wall

Like nothing at all,

And was after him fiercer than ever.

But he soon saw a temple whose door opened wide,

And in he rushed fainting and weary.

And using what breath he had left him, he tried

To chaunt as he ran, "miserere."

Though the fiend felt a qual

At the sound of the psalm.

Yet giving one jump more he caught him,

And the Saint with his breath

Would have roasted to death.

Had he not of the cross quick bethought him.

The walls of the church were all made of hard stone,

And made of the same was the paving,

While Anthony's fingers were but flesh and bone,

And rather soft tools for engraving-

But to his mighty hand

Stone yielded like sand,

And deep was the holy cross graven,

And the fiend foul and fell

With a horrible yell

From the potent sign ran like a craven.

If in that Cathedral the tourist will search,

As viewing old relics he lingers,

He'll find deeply scooped in the walls of the Church

The prints Of St Anthony's fingers-

No doubt can arise

If we trust to our eyes.

While musing the fancy doth revel,

And glowingly paints

How that greatest of Saints,

Mighty Anthony worsted the Devil.