And winding now the train appears Between the olive-trees: The friars of Alanquer came first, The King and his knights come last. She heard the horses tramp behind; << Have pity upon my poor soul, « Virgin, pray for me!»> That day in Coimbra, Many a heart was gay; But the heaviest heart in Coimbra, Was that poor Queen's that day. The festival is over, The sun hath sunk in the west; All the people in Coimbra Have betaken themselves to rest. Queen Orraca's father confessor Just at the midnight hour, when all Poorly were they dight; But from those robes of russet grey, Brighter than their brethren Among the beautiful band, He who led the brethren, A living man was he; Before the steps of the altar, Each one bow'd his head; << And who are ye, ye blessed saints ?>> << And for what happy souls sing ye The service of the dead?»> << These are the souls of our brethren in bliss, The Martyrs five are we : And this is our father Francisco, <«<We are come hither to perform Go thou to King Affonso, And say what thou hast seen.>> There was loud knocking at the door, A BALLAD, 1803. SHEWING HOW AN OLD WOMAN ROde double, AND WHO RODE BEFORE HER. A. D. 852. Circa dies istos, mulier quædam malefica, in villâ quæ Berkeleia dicitur degens, gulæ amatrix ac petulantiæ, flagitiis modum usque in senium et auguriis non ponens, usque ad mortem impudica permansit. Hæc die quadam cum sederet ad prandium, cornicula quam pro delitiis pascebat, nescio quid garrire cœpit; quo audito, mulieris cultellus de manu excidit, simul et facies pallescere cœpit, et emisso rugitu, Lodie, inquit, accipiam grande incommodum, hodieque ad sulcum ultimum meum pervenit aratrum. Quo dicto, nuncius doloris intravit; muliere vero percunctata ad quid veniret, affero, inquit, tibi filii tui obitum et totius familia ejus ex subitâ ruinâ interitum. Hoc quoque dolore mulier permota, lecto protinus decubuit graviter infirmata; sentiensque morbum subrepere ad vitalia, liberos quos habuit superstites, monachum videlicet et monacham, per epistolam invitavit; advenientes autem voce singultiente alloquitur. Ego, inquit, o pueri, meo miserabili fato dæmoniacis semper artibus inservivi; ego omnium vitiorum sentina, ego illecebrarum omnium fui magistra. Erat tamen mihi inter hæc mala, spes vestræ religionis, quæ meam solidaret animam desperatam; vos expectabam propugnatores contra dæmones, tutores contra sævissimos hostes. Nunc igitur quoniam ad finem vitæ perveni, rogo vos per materna ubera, ut mea tentatis alleviare tormenta. Insuite me defunctam in corio cervino, ac deinde in sarcophago lapideo supponite, operculumque ferro et plumbo constringite, ac demum lapidem tribus cathenis ferreis et fortissimis circundantes, clericos quinquaginta psalmorum cantores, et tot per tres dies presbyteros missarum celebratores applicate, qui feroces lenigent adversariorum incursus. Ita si tribus noctibus secura jacuero, quartà die me infodite humo. Factumque est ut præceperat illis. Sed, proh dolor! nil preces. nil lachrymæ, nil demum valuere catena. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum chori psallentium corpori assistebant, advenientes Dæmones ostium ecclesiæ confregerunt ingenti obice clausum, extremasque cathenas negotio levi dirumpunt; media autem quæ fortior erat, illibata manebat. Tertia autem nocte, circa gallicinium, strepitu hostium adventantium, omne monasterium visum est a fundamento moveri. Unus ergo dæmonum, et vultu cæteris terribilior et statura eminentior, januas Ecclesiæ impetu violento concussas in fragmenta dejecit. Divexerunt clerici cum laicis, metu steterunt omnium capilli, et psalmorum concentus defecit. Dæmon ergo gestu ut videbatur arroganti ad sepulchrum accedens, et nomen mulieris modicum ingeminans, surgere imperavit. Quà respondente, quod nequiret pro vinculis, jam malo tuo, inquit, solveris; et protinus cathenam quæ cæterorum ferociam dæmonum deluserat, velut stuppeum vinculum rumpebat. Operculum etiam sepulchri pede depellens, mulierem palam omnibus ab ecclesià extraxit, ubi præ foribus niger equus superbe hinniens videbatur, nncis ferreis et clavis undique confixus, super quem misera mulier projecta, ab oculis assistentium evanuit. Audiebantur tamen clamores per quatuor fere miliaria borribiles, auxilium postulantes. Ista itaque quæ retuli incredibilia non erunt, si legatur beati Gregorii dialogus, in quo refert, hominem in ecclesià sepultum, a dæmonibus foras ejectum. Et apud Francos Carolus Martellas insignis vir fortitudinis, qui Saracenos Galliam ingressos, Hispaniam redire compulit, exactis vitæ suæ diebus, in Ecclesià beati Dionysii legitur fuisse sepultus. Sed quia patrimonia, cum decimis omnium fere ecclesiarum Galliæ, pro stipendio commilitonum suorum mutilaverat, miserabiliter a malignis spiritibus de sepulchro corporaliter avulsus, usque in hodiernum diem nusquam comparuit.-Matthew of Westminster. This story is also related by Olaus Magnus, and in the Nuremberg Chronicle. THE Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal, And she grew pale at the Raven's tale, << Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed,» The Old Woman of Berkeley said, << The monk my son, and my daughter the nun, Bid them hasten or I shall be dead,» The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, And they have brought with pious thought The Old Woman shriek'd as they enter'd her door, For mercy, my children dear!» Her lip it trembled with agony, The sweat ran down her brow, « I have tortures in store for evermore, Oh! spare me, my children, now!»> Away they sent the sacrament, The fit it left her weak, She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes, And faintly struggled to speak. « All kind of sin I have rioted in, « I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes, The fiends have been my slaves, I have 'nointed myself with infants' fat, « And the Devil will fetch me now in fire, And I who have rifled the dead man's grave Shall never have rest in my own. « Bless, I entreat, my winding-sheet, And with holy water sprinkle my shroud, << And let me be chain'd in my coffin of stone, « And bless the chains and sprinkle them, « And see that fifty choristers And day and night by the taper's light, << Let the church bells all both great and small, Be toll'd by night and day, To drive from thence the fiends who come « And ever have the church door barr'd And I beseech you, children dear, « And let this be three days and nights. The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down, Short came her breath and the struggle of death They blest the old woman's winding-sheet And they chain'd her in her coffin of stone, And in the church with three strong chains And they blest the chains and sprinkled them, By night and day the mass to say Where she lay on the ground. And fifty sacred choristers Beside the bier attend her, To see the priests and choristers Each holding, as it were a staff, A taper burning bright. And the church bells all both great and small, Did toll so loud and long, And they have barr'd the church door hard, After the even song. And the first night the tapers' light Burnt steadily and clear, But they without a hideous rout Of angry fiends could hear; A hideous roar at the church door Like a long thunder peal, And the priests they pray'd and the choristers sung Loud toll'd the bell, the priests pray'd well, The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, The cock he crew, the fiends they flew The second night the tapers' light And every one saw his neighbour's face And yells and cries without arise That the stoutest heart might shock, And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring Over a mountain rock. The monk and nun they told their beads As fast as they could tell, And aye as louder grew the noise The faster went the bell. Louder and louder the choristers sung And the priests as they pray'd to heaven for aid, The cock he crew, the fiends they flew From the voice of the morning away; Then undisturb'd the choristers sing, And the fifty priests they pray; As they had sung and pray'd all night They pray'd and sung all day. The third night came, and the tapers' flame A hideous stench did make, And they burnt as though they had been dipt In the burning brimstone lake. And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean, Grew momently more and more, And strokes as of a battering ram, Did shake the strong church door. The bellmen they, for very fear, The monk and nun forgot their beads, And the choristers' song which late was so strong, For the church did rock as an earthquake shock Uplifted its foundation. And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast, And the taper's light was extinguish'd quite, They call'd with trembling tongue. And in He came with eyes of flame, He laid his hand on the iron chains, And like flax they moulder'd asunder, And the coffin lid, which was barr'd so firm, He burst with his voice of thunder. And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise, And the cold sweat stood on the cold, cold corpse, She rose on her feet in her winding-sheet, And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave She follow'd the fiend to the church door, The fiend he flung her on the horse, And he leapt up before, And away like the lightning's speed they went, And she was seen no more. They saw her no more, but her cries and shrieks 1798. THE SURGEON'S WARNING. The subject of this parody was given me by a friend, to whom also I am indebted for some of the stanzas. Respecting the patent coffins herein mentioned, after the manner of Catholic Poets, who confess the actions they attribute to their Saints and Deity to be but fiction, I hereby declare that it is by no means my design to depreciate that useful invention; and all persons to whom this Ballad shall some, are requested to take notice, that nothing here asserted concerning the aforesaid Coffins is true, except that the maker and patentee lives by St Martin's Lane. << And let it be solder'd closely down, Strong as strong can be, I implore, And put it in a patent coffin, That I may rise no more. << If they carry me off in the patent coffin Their labour will be in vain, Let the Undertaker see it bought of the maker, Who lives by St Martin's Lane. << And bury me in my brother's church, And I implore, lock the church door, << And all night long let three stout men To each man give a gallon of beer, « Powder and ball and blunderbuss, And eke, five guineas if he shoot << And let them watch me for three weeks, For then I think that I may stink Enough to rest in my grave.»> The Surgeon laid him down in his bed, His eyes grew deadly dim, Short came his breath and the struggle of death They put him in lead when he was dead, Lest the plumber should be a cheat. They had it solder'd closely down, And examined it o'er and o'er, And they put it in a patent coffin That he might rise no more. For to carry him off in a patent coffin, Would, they thought, be but labour in vain, So the Undertaker saw it bought of the maker, Who lives by St Martin's Lane. In his brother's church they buried him, That safer he might be, They lock'd the door, and would not trust The Sexton with the key. And three men in the vestry watch To save him if they can, And should he come there to shoot they swear A resurrection-man. And the first night by lanthorn light But conscience was tough, it was not enough, And they bade him go with Mister Joe So all night long by the vestry fire They quaff'd their gin and ale, The second night by lanthorn light Through the church-yard as they went, The guineas were bright and attracted their sight And their fingers itch'd as they were bewitch'd, But they waver'd not long, for conscience was strong, And they refused the gold, but not So rudely as before. So all night long by the vestry fire The third night as by lanthorn light Through the church-yard they went, He bade them see and show'd them three They look'd askance with greedy glance, And he look'd sly with his roguish eye, And they could not stand the sound in his hand, And conscience, late that had such weight, For well they knew that it was true And they gave all their powder and ball, And they drank their beer and made good cheer, Then, though the key of the church-door And in they go with that villain Joe, They laid the pick-axe to the stones, And they moved them soon asunder; They shovell'd away the hard-prest clay, And came to the coffin under. They burst the patent coffin first, And they cut through the lead; Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found So he repair'd the chapel's ruin'd roof, The peasants from the shore would bring him food, And they laugh'd aloud when they saw the shroud, Imploring pardon for the natural sin Of that reluctance, till the atoning prayer |