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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,
Lord Edmund seem'd to stand,
Such and so pale as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand;

Such and so pale his face as when,
With faint and faultering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.

«I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard-
Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge!
Now take thy due reward.»

He started up, each limb convulsed
With agonizing fear:

He only heard the storm of night,-
'T was music to his ear.

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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.

I never saw a ghastlier sight,
And it often made me wake at night,
For I saw it in dreams again.

«They laid her here where four roads meet, Beneath this very place.

The earth upon her corpse was prest,
The stake is driven into her breast,

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,
That in winter the corn was growing yet,
"T was a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,
For he had a plentiful last-year's store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnish'd well.

1 Hodie Bingen.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay,

He bade them to his great l'aru repair,

And they should have food for the winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
The poor folk flock'd from far and near;
The great Barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.

Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the Barn and burut them all.

« 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
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

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,
And he crost the Rhine without delay,
And reach'd his tower, and barr'd with care
All the windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

He laid him down and closed his eyes;-
But soon a scream made him arise,
He started and saw two eyes of flame

On his pillow from whence the screaming came.

He listen'd and look'd;-it was only the Cat;
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, mad with fear
At the Army of Rats that were drawing near.

For they have swam over the river so deep,
And they have climb'd the shores so steep,
And now by thousands up they crawl
To the holes and windows in the wall.

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Every child at beholding it shiver'd with dread,
And scream'd as he turn'd away quick;
Not an old woman saw it, but, raising her head,
Dropt a bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and said,
Lord keep me from ugly Old Nick!

What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day,
He sometimes would dream of by night;
But once he was startled as sleeping he lay;

T was no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey
That the Devil himself was in sight.

«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,
So carefully he the grim countenance eyed,
And thank'd him for sitting with Catholic pride,
And sturdily bade him defiance.

Betimes in the morning the Painter arose,
He is ready as soon as 't is light.
Every look, every line, every feature he knows,
'T is fresh in his eye, to his labour he goes,
And he has the old Wicked One quite.

Happy man! he is sure the resemblance can't fail;
The tip of the nose is red-hot,

He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue!
There's a look which he cannot express;-
Ilis colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue;
More and more on the lady he fixes his view,
On the canvas he looks less and less.

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;
'T is a portrait complete to his mind!
He touches again, and again gluts his sight;

He looks round for applause, and he sees with affright
The Original standing behind.

« 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.

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One there was to be painted the number among
Of features most fair to behold;
The country around of fair Marguerite rung,
Marguerite she was lovely and lively and young,
Her husband was ugly and old.

O Painter, avoid her! O Painter, take care!
For Satan is watchful for you!

Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One's snare,
The net is made ready, O Painter, beware

Of Satan and Marguerite too.

She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head,
On the artist she fixes her eyes;

The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,
He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,
And the features of beauty arise.

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,

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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,

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