Reluctant now, as night came on, His lonely couch he prest; And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,To sleep-but not to rest. Beside that couch his brother's form, Such and so pale his face as when, «I bade thee with a father's love He started up, each limb convulsed He only heard the storm of night,- They carried her upon a board In the clothes in which she died; << I think they could not have been closed, So widely did they strain. I never saw a ghastlier sight, «They laid her here where four roads meet, Beneath this very place. The earth upon her corpse was prest, And a stone is on her face.»> 1798. GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A BISHOP. Here followeth the History of HATTO, Archbichop of Mentz. It hapned in the year 914, that there was an exceeding great famine in Germany, at what time Otho surnamed the Great was Emperor, and one Hatto, once Abbot of Fulda, was Archbishop of Mentz, of the Bishops after Crescens and Crescentius the two and thirtieth, of the Archbishops after St Bonifacius the thirteenth.This Hatto in the time of this great famine afore-mentioned, when he saw the poor people of the country exceedingly oppressed with famine, assembled a great company of them together into a Barne, and, like a most accursed and mercilesse caitiffe, burnt up those poor innocent souls, that were so far from doubting any such matter, that they rather hoped to receive some comfort and relief at his hands. The reason that moved the prelat to commit that execrable impiety was, because he thought the famine would the sooner cease, if those unprofitable beggars that consumed more bread than they were worthy to eat, were dispatched out of the world. For he said that those poor folks were like to Mice, that were good for nothing but to devour corne. But God Almighty, the just avenger of the poor folks quarrel, did not long suffer this hainous tyranny, this most detestable fact, unpunished. For he mustered up an army of Mice against the Archbishop, and sent them to persecute him as his furious Alastors, so that they afflicted him both day and night, and would not suffer him to take his rest in any place. Whereupon the Prelate thinking that he should be secure from the injury of Mice if he were in a certaine tower, that standeth in the Rhine near to the towne, betook himself unto the said tower as to a safe refuge and sanctuary from his enemies, and locked himself in. But the innumerable troupes of Mice chased him continually very eagerly, and swumme unto him upon the top of the water to execute the just judgment of God, and so at last he was most miserably devoured by those sillie creatures; who pursued him with such bitter hosti lity, that it is recorded they scraped and knawed out his very name from the walls and tapistry wherein it was written, after they had so cruelly devoured his body. Wherefore the tower wherein he was eaten up by the Mice is shown to this day, for a perpetual monument to all succeeding ages of the barbarous and inhuman tyranny of this impious Prelate, being situate in a little green Island in the midst of the Rhine near to the towne of Bing,' and is commonly called in the German Tongue, the MowSE-TURN.-COATAT'S Crudities p. 571, 572. Other Authors who record this tale say that the Bishop was eaten by Rats. THE summer and autumn had been so wet, Every day the starving poor 1 Hodie Bingen. At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day He bade them to his great l'aru repair, And they should have food for the winter there. Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, Then when he saw it could hold no more, « I'faith 't is an excellent bonfire!» quoth he, << And the country is greatly obliged to me, For ridding it in these times forlorn Of Rats that only consume the corn.>> So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily, And he slept that night like an innocent man, But Bishop Hatto never slept again. In the morning as he enter'd the hall As he look'd there came a man from his farm, He had a countenance white with alarm. My Lord, I open'd your granaries this morn, And the Rats had eaten all your corn.»> Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be, « Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly,» quoth he, «Ten thousand Rats are coming this way,The Lord forgive you for yesterday!» << I'll go to my tower on the Rhine,» replied he, «T is the safest place in Germany, The walls are high and the shores are steep And the stream is strong and the water deep.>> Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away, He laid him down and closed his eyes;- On his pillow from whence the screaming came. He listen'd and look'd;-it was only the Cat; For they have swam over the river so deep, Every child at beholding it shiver'd with dread, What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day, T was no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey «You rascally dauber!» old Beelzebub cries, «Take heed how you wrong me again! Though your caricatures for myself I despise, Make me handsomer now in the multitude's eyes, Or see if I threaten in vain !»> Now the Painter was bold, and religious beside, And on faith he had certain reliance, Betimes in the morning the Painter arose, Happy man! he is sure the resemblance can't fail; He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue! In vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more, And that look which fair Marguerite gave! Many Devils the Artist had painted of yore, But he never had tried a live Angel before,St Anthony, help him and save! He yielded, alas! for the truth must be told, To the Woman, the Tempter, and Fate. There's his grin and his fangs, his skin cover'd with It was settled the Lady so fair to behold, scale, And that the identical curl of his tail, Not a mark, not a claw, is forgot. He looks and retouches again with delight; He looks round for applause, and he sees with affright « Fool! Idiot!» old Beelzebub grinn'd as he spoke, And stampt on the scaffold in ire; The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, 'T was a terrible height, and the scaffolding broke, The Devil could wish it no higher. One there was to be painted the number among O Painter, avoid her! O Painter, take care! Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One's snare, Of Satan and Marguerite too. She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head, The colours are ready, the canvas is spread, Should elope from her husband so ugly and old, With the Painter so pious of late! Now Satan exults in his vengeance complete, To the Husband he makes the scheme known; Night comes and the lovers impatiently meet, Together they fly, they are seized in the street, And in prison the Painter is thrown. With Repentance, his only companion, he lies, And a dismal companion is she! On a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, Now, you villanous dauber!» Sir Beelzebub cries, «You are paid for your insults to me! «But my tender heart you may easily move If to what I propose you agree; That picture,-be just! the resemblance improve, Make a handsomer portrait, your chains I'll remove, And you shall this instant be free.»> Overjoy'd, the conditions so easy he hears, « I'll make you quite handsome!» he said. He said, and his chain on the Devil appears; Released from his prison, released from his fears, The Painter is snug in his bed. At morn he arises, composes his look, |