« 前へ次へ »
The tempest, as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came, With colil and death-like feelings secm'd
To thrill his sluddering framc.
« Haste--haste--ply swift and strong the oar!
Haste-baste across the stream !» Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream,
« There's one who like a Christian lies
Beneath the church-trce's shade; I'd rather go a long mile round Than pass at evening through the ground
Wherein that man is laid.
« There's one who in the church-yard lies
For whom the bell did toll;
I would not be with his soul!
They carried her upon a board
In the clothes in which she died; I saw the cap blow off her head, Her face was of a dark dark red,
Her eyes were starting wide : «I think they could not have been closed,
So widely did they strain.
For I saw it in dreams again. « They laid her here where four roads meet,
Beneath this very place.
« Didst see a house below the hill
Which the winds and the rains destroy? 'T was then a farm where he did dwell, And I remember it full well
When I was a growing boy.
GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A BISHOP.
« And she was a poor parish girl
Who came up from the west : From service hard she ran away, And at that house in evil day
Was taken in to rest,
« The man he was a wicked man,
And an evil life he led ; Rage made his face grow deadly white, And his grey eyes were large and light,
And in anger they grew red!
« The man was bad, the mother worse,
Bad fruit of evil stem; "T would make your hair to stand on end If I should tell to you, my friend,
The things that were told of them!
« Didst see an out-house standing by ?
The walls alone remain;
All rotted by the rain.
Rere followeth the History of ILATTO, Archbichop of Menti.
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 ono 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 Bonifacios the thirteenth.This Hatto in the time of this great famine afore-mentioned, when be saw ibe 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 matler, that they rather hoped to receive some comfort and relief at his hands. The reason that moved the prelai to commit that execrable impiety was, because he ibought the famine would the sooner cease, if ibose unprofitable beggars that consumed more bread than they were woriby 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 bainous tyranny, this most detestable fact, unpunished. For be mustered up an army of Mice against the Archbishop, and sont them to persecuto bim as his furious Alastors, so that they afflicted bin both day and night, and would not suffer him to take his rest in any place. Whereupon the Prelate tbinking that he should be secure from the injury of Mice if hewers in a certaine tower, that standeth in tbe Rhine near to the towne, betook bimself unto the said tower as to a safo refuge and sanctuary from his enemies, and locked bimself in. But the inpumerablo troupes of Mice chased bim continually very eagerly, and swamme unto him upon the top of the water 10 executo the just judgment of God, and so at last he was most miserably devoured by those sillie creatures ; who pursued him with such bitter bosti. lity, that it is recorded they scraped and knawed out his very name from the walls and tapistry wberein it was written, after they had 80 cruelly devoured his body. Wherefore the tower wherein he was caten 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-TURX-Coarat's Crudities p. 571, 572.
Other Authors who record this tale say that the Bishop was eaten by Rats.
« The poor girl she had served with them
Some half-a-year or more, When she was found hung up one day, Stiff as a corpse and cold as clay,
Behind that stable door!
« Il is a wild and lonesome place,
No hut or house is near; Should one mcet a murderer there alone 'T were vain to scream, and the dying groan
Would never reach mortal car.
« And there were strange reports about ;
But still the Corouer found That she hy her own hand had died, And should buried be by the way-side,
And not in Christian ground.
The summer and autumn had been so wet,
« This was the very place lie chose,
Just where these four roads met; And I was one among the throng That hither follow'd them along,
I shall never the sight forget!
Every day the starving poor
1 Hodie Bingen.
Now the Painter was bold, and religious beside, He is come to her eyes, eyes so briglit and so blue! And on faith he had certain reliance,
There's a look which he cannot express; So carefully be the grim countenance eyed,
llis colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue; And thank'd him for sitting with Catholic pride, More and more on the lady he fixes his view, And sturdily bade him defiance.
On the canvas he looks less and less. Betimes in the morning the Painter arose,
In voin lie retouches, lier eyes sparkle more, lle is ready as soon as 't is light.
And that Icok which fair Marguerite gave! Every look, every line, every feature he knows,
Many Devils the Artist had painted of yore, 'T is fresh in luis eye, to his labour he goes,
But he never had tried a live Angel before, And he has the old Wicked One quite.
St Anthony, help him and save!
He yielded, alas! for the truth must be told,
To the Woman, the Tempter, and Fate.
Should elope from her husband so ugly and old, And that the identical curl of his tail,
With the Painter so pious of late! Not a mark, nol a claw, is forgot.
Now Satan exults in his vengeance complete, He looks and retouches again with delight;
To the Husband he makes the scheme known; "T is a portrait complete to his mind!
Night comes and the lovers impatiently meet, He touches again, and again gluts his sight;
Together they ily, they are seized in the street, Ile looks round for applause, and he sees with affright
And in prison the Painter is thrown. The Original standing behind.
With Repentance, liis only companion, he lies, « Fool! Idiot!» old Beelzebub grinn'd as he spoke,
And a dismal companion is she! And slampt on the scaffold in ire;
On a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke,
« Now, you villapous dauber!» Sir Becizebub cries, 'T was a terrible height, and the scaffolding broke, The Devil could wish it no luicher.
« You are paid for your insults to me!
« But my tender heart you may easily move « Help-help me! O Mary!» he cried in alarm,
If to what I propose you agree; As the scaffold sunk under his feet.
That picture,-be just! the resemblance improve, From the canvas the Virgin extended her arm,
Make a handsomer portrait, your chains I'll remove, She caught the good Painter, she saved him from harm,
shall this instant bc free.» There were hundreds who saw in the strect.
Overjoy'd, the conditions so easy he hears, The Old Dragon fled when the wonder he spied,
« I'll make you quite handsome!” he said. And cursed his own fruitless endeavour;
He said, and his chain on the Devil appears; While the Painter call'd after bis raye to deride,
Released from his prison, released from his fears, Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and cried,
The Painter is snug in his bed. « I'll paint thee morc ugly than ever!»
At morn he arises, composes his look,
Aud proceeds to liis work as before;
The people belield him, the culprit they took ;
They thought that the Painter his prison had broke, For defying the malice of liell;
And to prison they led him once more.
They open the dungeon:--behold in his place
Jo the corner old Beelzebub lay.
lle smirks and he smiles and he leers with a grace, One there was to be paivted ilie number among That the Painter might catch all the charms of his Of features most fair to behold;
face, The country around of fair Marguerite rung,
Then vanislid in lightning away. Marguerite she was lovely and lively and young,
Quoth the Painter, « I trust you 'll suspect me no more, Her husband was ugly and old.
find my assertions were true; O Painter, avoid her! O Painter, take care!
But I'll alter the picture above the Church-door, For Saian is watcliful for you!
For I never saw Satan 50 closely before, Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One's snare,
And I must give the Devil his due.» The net is made ready, o Painter, beware
1798. Of Satan and Marguerite 100.
ST MICHAEL'S CHAIR. She seats herself now, now she lifts
her head, On the artist she fixes her eyes;
Merrily, merrily rung the bells, The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,
The bells of St Michael's tower, He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,
When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife And the features of beauty arise.
Arrived at St Michael's door.