  In the account of the Dies Irae, on THE FOUR CRAZED BROTHERS.Shrivelled into corpselike thinness Four within the madhouse sit; From their pallid lips no sentence Tells of either sense or wit. Starkly there they face each other, Each more gloomy than his brother. Hark! the hour of midnight striking Lifts their very hair with fright; Then at last their lips are open, Then they chant with muffled might: Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla! Once they were four evil brothers, Drunk and clamorous withal, Who with lewd and ribald ditties Through the holy night would brawl, Heeding not their father’s warning, Even friend’s remonstrance scorning. Gape their mouths for very horror, But no word will issue thence; God’s eternal vengeance strikes them, Chilled they stand without defence; White their hair and pale their faces, Madness every mind erases! Then the old man, dying, turned him To his wicked sons, and said: Doth not that cold form affright you Which shall lead us to the dead? Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla! Thus he spoke and thence departed, But it moved them not at all; Though he passed to peace unending, While for them should justice call, As their lives to strife were given, Near to hell and far from heaven. Thus they lived and thus they revelled, Until many a year had fled; Others’ sorrow cost them nothing, Blanched no hair upon the head; Jolly brothers! they were able To hold God and sin a fable! But at last, as midnight found them Drunkly reeling from the feast, Hark! the song of saints was lifted Through the church, and high increased; “Cease your barking, hounds!” they shouted, As with Satan’s mouth undoubted. Then they rushed, those wicked brothers, Roughly through the holy door; But, as though at final judgment, Down they heard that chorus pour. |
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