This is the holy eve, and on the morrow,
With solemn chant we shall observe the birth
Of that sweet Christ-child whom we worship all.
THE SOLDIER. Then I'll not quarrel--my hand upon it. There.
THE MERCHANT. Nor I. And here's my hand, good soldier. There.
[The company is silent for a moment, while the wind moans in the great
chimney.]
THE MERCHANT [crossing himself]. Hark to the wind. Meseemeth that it wails
Like some lost soul.
THE SOLDIER. Some say it is the soul
Of that accursed Jew who crossed our Lord
When he was on his way to Calvary,
And was condemned to wander ever more
Until the Christ a second time should come.
[The faces grow solemn, in the fire-light, and the voices are
lowered.]
THE MONK. The Jew! Oft have men seen him bent and worn,
When darkness fills the earth, still wandering,
Still living out his curse.
THE PEASANT. List! Hear ye not?
THE SOLDIER. Again that mournful wailing of the wind.
THE PEASANT. How came he by the curse?
THE MONK. Know, when our Lord,
Full weary, bore his cross to Calvary,
He paused a moment, resting, but this Jew,
Ahasuerus--cursed be the name--
Reviled the Saviour, and commanded him
To move away.
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