THE PARROT OF NEVERS by JOHN GODFREY SAXE

I.

ONCE on a time there flourished in Nevers,
Within a nunnery of godly note,
A famous parrot, so exceeding fair
In the deep lustre of his emerald coat,
They called him Ver-Vert, -- syllables that mean
In English much the same as Double Green.

II.
In youth transplanted from an Indian strand,
For his soul's health with Christian folks to dwell,
His morals yet were pure, his manners bland;
Gay, handsome, brilliant, and, the truth to tell,
Pert and loquacious, as became his age;
In short, well worthy of his holy cage.

III.

Dear to the sisters for his winning ways
Was gay Ver-Vert; they kept him ever near,
And kindly taught him many a holy phrase,
Enforced with tidbits from their daily cheer,
And loved him better, they would oft declare,
Than any one, except their darling Mere!

IV.

Ah! ne'er was parrot happier than he;
And happy was the lucky girl of whom
He asked -- according as his whim might be --
The privilege at eve to share her room,
Where, perched upon the relics, he would sleep
Through the long night in slumber calm and deep.

V.

At length, what joy to see! -- the bird had grown,
With good example, thoughtful and devout,
He said his prayers in such a nasal tone,
His piety was quite beyond a doubt;
And some declared that soon, with proper teaching,
He'd rival the Superior at preaching!

VI.

If any laughed to see his solemn ways,
In curt rebuke, "Orate!" he replied;
And when his zeal provoked a shower of praise,
"Deo sit laus!" the humble novice cried;
And many said they did n't mind confessing
His "Pax sit tecum"! brought a special blessing.

VII.

Such wondrous talents, though awhile concealed,
Could not be kept in secrecy forever;
Some babling nun the precious truth revealed,
And all the town must see a bird so clever;
Until at last so wide the wonder grew,
'T was fairly bruited all the country through.

VIII.

And so it fell, by most unlucky chance,
A distant city of the parrot heard;
The story reached some sister-nuns at Nantz,
Who fain themselves would see this precious bird
Whose zeal and learning had sufficed to draw
On blest Nevers such honor and eclat.

IX.

What could they do? -- well, here is what they did,
To the good Abbess presently there went
A friendly note, in which the writers bid
A thousand blessings hasten their de scent
Upon her honored house, -- and would she please
To grant a favor asked upon their knees?

X.

'T was only this, that she would deign to lend
For a brief space that charming paroquet;
They hoped the bold request might not offend
Her ladyship, but then they fain would get
Such proof as only he could well advance
To silence certain skeptic nuns of Nantz.

XI.

The letter came to hand, and such a storm
Of pious wrath was never heard before;
The mildest sister waxed exceeding warm, --
"Perdre Ver-Vert, O ciel! plutot la mort!"
They all broke forth in one terrific cry,
What? -- lose their darling? -- they would rather die!

XII.

But, on reflection, it was reckoned best
To take the matter into grave debate,
And put the question fairly to the test
(Which seemed, indeed, a nice affair of state),
If they should lend their precious pet or not;
And so they held a session, long and hot.

XIII.

The sisters all with one accord express
Their disapproval in a noisy "No!"
The graver dame -- who loved the parrot less --
Declared, Perhaps 't were best to let him go;
Refusal was ungracious, and, indeed,
An ugly quarrel might suffice to breed.

XIV.

Vain was the clamor of the younger set;
"Just fifteen days and not a moment more"
(Mamma decided) "we will lend our pet;
Of course his absence we shall all deplore,
But then, remember, he is only lent
For two short weeks," -- and off the parrot went!

XV.

In the same bark that bore the bird away
Were several Gascons and a vulgar nurse,
Besides two Cyprian ladies; sooth to say,
Ver-Vert's companions could n't have been worse.
Small profit such a youth might hope to gain
From wretches so licentious and profane.

XVI.

Their manners struck him as extremely queer;
Such oaths and curses he had never heard
As now in volleys stunned his saintly ear;
Although he did n't understand a word,
Their conversation seemed improper, very,
To one brought up within a monastery.

XVII.

For his, remember, was a Christian tongue
Unskilled in aught save pious prose or verse
By his good sisters daily said or sung;
And now to hear the Gascons and the nurse
Go on in such a roaring, ribald way,
He knew not what to think, nor what to say.

XVIII.

And so he mused in silence; till at last
The nurse reproached him for a sullen fool,
And poured upon him a terrific blast
Of questions, such as, where he'd been to school?
And was he used to traveling about?
And did his mother know that he was out?

XIX.

"Ave Maria!" said the parrot, -- vexed
By so much banter into sudden speech, --
Whereat all laughed to hear the holy text,
And cried, "By Jove! the chap is going to preach!"
"Come," they exclaimed, "let's have a song instead."
"Cantate Domino!" the parrot said.

XX.

At this reply they laughed so loud and long
That poor Ver-Vert was fairly stricken dumb.
In vain they teased him for a merry song;
Abashed by ridicule and quite o'ercome
With virulent abuse, the wretched bird
For two whole days refused to speak a word.

XXI.

Meanwhile he listened to their vile discourse
In deep disgust; but still the stranger thought
Their slang surpassed in freedom, pith, and force
The purer language which the missal taught,
And seemed, besides, an easier tongue to speak
Than prayer-book Latin or monastic Greek.

XXII.

In short, to tell the melancholy truth,
Before the boat had reached its destined shore
He who embarked a pure, ingenuous youth,
Had grown a profligate, and cursed and swore
Such dreadful oaths as e'en the Gaseons heard
With shame, and said, "The Devil's in the bird!"

XXIII.

At length the vessel has arrived in port
And half the sisterhood are waiting there
To greet their guest, and safely to escort
To their own house the wonderful Ver-Vert, --
The precious parrot whom their fancies paint
Crowned with halo like a very saint!

XXIV.

Great was the clamor when their eyes beheld
The charming stranger in the emerald coat;
"Ver-Vert, indeed!" -- his very hue compelled
A shout of praise that reached the highest note.
"And then such eyes! and such a graceful walk!
And soon -- what rapture! -- we shall hear him talk!"

XXV.

At length the Abbess, in a nasal chant
(Intended, doubtless, for a pretty speech),
Showered him with thanks that he had deigned to grant
His worthy presence there, and to beseech
His benediction in such gracious terms
As might befit the sinfulest of worms.

XXVI.

Alas for youthful piety! the bird,
Still thinking o'er the lessons latest learned,
For a full minute answered not a word,
And then, as if to show how much he spurned
The early teachings of his holy school,
He merely muttered, "Curse the silly fool!"

XXVII.

The lady, startled at the queer remark,
Could not but think that she had heard amiss;
And so began to speak again, -- but hark!
What diabolic dialect is this? --
Such language for a saint was most improper,
Each word an oath, and every oath a whopper!

XXVIII.

"Parbleu!" "Morbleu!" and every azure curse
To pious people strictly disallowed,
Including others that were vastly worse,
Came rattling forth on the astonished crowd
In such a storm that one might well compare
The dreadful volley to a feu d'enfer!

XXIX.

All stood aghast in horror and dismay;
Some cried, "For shame! is that the way they teach
Their pupils at Nevers?" Some ran away,
Rending the welkin with a piercing screech;
Some stopt their ears for modesty; and some
(Though shocked) stood waiting something worse to come.

XXX.

In brief, the dame, replete with holy rage
At being thus insulted and disgraced,
Shut up the hateful parrot in his cage,
And sent him back with all convenient haste
And this indignant note: "In time to come
Be pleased to keep your precious prize at home!"

XXXI.

When to Nevers the wicked wanderer came,
All were delighted at his quick return;
But who can paint their sorrow and their shame
When the sad truth the gentle sisters learn,
That he who left them chanting pious verses,
Now greets his friends with horrid oaths and curses!

XXXII.

'T is said that after many bitter days
In wholesome solitude and penance passed,
Ver-Vert grew meek, reformed his wicked ways,
And died a hopeful penitent at last.
The moral of my story is n't deep, --
"Young folks, beware what company you keep!"

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