He had no particular malady except that he was a poet, but
surely that was burden enough. To have to endure the common sights and
sounds of this earth when one is composing poetry is indeed a trying and
troublesome thing. So Morpheus found it, and therefore he frequently
stayed in bed, and allowed his fancy to rove at its own sweet will.
They lived in what had been a monastery. There had been houses and farms
on the Lazybones property, but the money not being forthcoming for
repairs, they had been each in turn left for another in better
condition, until the monastery--what was left of it--with its solidly
built walls, offered what seemed to be a permanent home.
Here Morpheus lined a cell with tapestries and books, and wrote his
sonnets. Here Leo slept and ate, and housed his dogs. The servants
grumbled at the damp and mould, but made the chimneys roar with blazing
logs, and held many a merry carousal where the old monks had prayed and
fasted. The more devout ones rebuked these proceedings, and said they
were enough to provoke a visit from the Evil One; but as yet the warning
had no effect, as the revels went on as usual.
Besides being a poet, Morpheus was conducting Leo's education.
Undertaken in the common way, this might have interfered with the
delicate modes of thought required for the production of poems, but the
Lazybones were never without ingenuity.
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