'O Edrehi, forbear to-night <br />Your ghostly legends of affright, <br />And let the Talmud rest in peace; <br />Spare us your dismal tales of death <br />That almost take away one's breath; <br />So doing, may your tribe increase.' <br /> <br />Thus the Sicilian said; then went <br />And on the spinet's rattling keys <br />Played Marianina, like a breeze <br />From Naples and the Southern seas, <br />That brings us the delicious scent <br />Of citron and of orange trees, <br />And memories of soft days of ease <br />At Capri and Amalfi spent. <br /> <br />'Not so,' the eager Poet said; <br />'At least, not so before I tell <br />The story of my Azrael, <br />An angel mortal as ourselves, <br />Which in an ancient tome I found <br />Upon a convent's dusty shelves, <br />Chained with an iron chain, and bound <br />In parchment, and with clasps of brass, <br />Lest from its prison, some dark day, <br />It might be stolen or steal away, <br />While the good friars were singing mass. <br /> <br />'It is a tale of Charlemagne, <br />When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers <br />And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, <br />With lightning flaming through its showers, <br />He swept across the Lombard plain, <br />Beleaguering with his warlike train <br />Pavia, the country's pride and boast, <br />The City of the Hundred Towers.' <br /> <br />Thus heralded the tale began, <br />And thus in sober measure ran.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tales-of-a-wayside-inn-part-3-interlude-i/
