The Recluse (Cook)/Ballad of St. Anthony

by Frank Belknap Long

Ballad of St. Anthony

By Frank Belknap Long, Jr.

When Anthony was seventeen
And leaner than a tree,
By day and night he scourged his flesh
That hated chastity.

When Anthony was seventeen
He fasted night and day;
He scarcely tasted wine and meat,
And eggs he sent away.

When Anthony was seventeen
He thought: “I fear the bark,
The talons of the dog, God keep
My soul when it is dark.”

But Anthony was very young,
And youth must sleep and dream,
And what is murdered in the day
Will wake at night and scream.

So listen to the tale I tell
And do not mourn or grieve;
For virtue lost at seventeen
Is not beyond retrieve.

When Anthony had prayed and prayed
Until his lips were white,
He drew off breeches, blouse and shoes,
And blew upon the light.

And then in darkness he lay down
Upon his narrow cot;
And what was murdered in the day,
Came back and left him not.

And as he tossed from side to side
Upon his wretched bed
The Holy Saints grew pale with Shame,
And midnight hung its head,

For she had bells upon her toes
And fillets on her brow,
But every inch of space between
Was white as virgin snow.

And every inch of space between
Set Anthonw afire:
Alas, that such a goodly youth
Should burn with such desire!

Alas, that such a goodly youth
Should think, “I can’t escape!
O must I then be slaughtered by
This beast in woman’s shape?”

Yet lo! he flung her arms aside
And rolled upon the floor,
And screaming ran with naked feet
To beat upon the door.

“O let me out!” he shrieked and prayed
“For there are succubi
Upon my heels and I am lost!
O heaven pity me!”

But as he screamed and sought to wake
The Holy Brotherhood
She bent and kissed his lipe and eyes
And he—was turned to wood.

Yet it was something less than death
That to his lot befell,
And it was sweeter in his sight
Than marigolds in hell.

My tale is done; but men who sit
In judgment on our sins
Will never know the joy he gat
Because they sleep on pins.