<poem>Thus he spoke and ceased. The Abbot

Lent him an impatient hearing,

Then outbroke with angry accent,

"We have borne three years, thou sayest?

"'Tis enough; my vow is sacred.

These shall perish with their brethren.

Hark ye! In my veins' pure current Were a single drop found Jewish,

"I would shrink not from outpouring

All my life blood, but to purge it.

Shall I gentler prove to others?

Mercy would be sacrilegious,

"Ne'er again at thy soul's peril,

Speak to me of Jewish beauty,

Jewish skill, or Jewish virtue.

I have said. Do thou remember."

Down behind the purple hillside

Dropped the sun; above the garden

Bang the Angelus' clear cadence

Summoning the monks to vespers.

</poem>