Tophet

2 0 00

Tophet

Thus Etough looked; so grinned the brawling fiend,

While frighted prelates bowed and called him friend;

I saw them bow, and while they wished him dead,

With servile simper nod the mitred head.

Our mother-church, with half-averted sight,

Blushed as she blessed her grisly proselyte;

Hosannas rung through hell’s tremendous borders,

And Satan’s self had thoughts of taking orders.