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That very morn the Landlord's power

Had seized the little left,
And now the sufferer found himself

Of every thing bereft.

The night was calm, the air was still,

Sweet sung the nightingale;
The soul of Jonathan was sooth'd,

His heart began to fail.

He leant his head upon his hand,

'Tis weary waiting here, he cried, His elbow on his knee,

And now the hour is late; And so by Jaspar's side he sate,

Methinks he will not come to-night, And not a word said he.

No longer let us wait. Nay-why so downcast? Jaspar cried,

| Have patience, man! the ruffian said, Come, cheer up, Jonathan!

A little we may wait, Drink, neighbour, drink! 'twill warm thy But longer shall his wife expect heart

Her husband at the gate. Come! come! take courage, man!

Then Jonathan grew sick at heart, He took the cup that Jaspar gave,

My conscience yet is clear! And down he drain'd it quick;

Jaspar-it is not yet too lateI have a wife, said Jonathan,

I will not linger here. And she is deadly sick.

How now! cried Jaspar; why, I thought She has no bed to lie upon,

| Thy conscience was asleep. I saw them take her bed

No more such qualms, the night is dark, And I have children--would to God

The river here is deep. That they and I were dead!

What matters that, said Jonathan, Our Landlord he goes home to-night

Whose blood began to freeze, And he will sleep in peace

When there is One above whose eye I would that I were in my grave,

The deeds of darkness sees ! For there all troubles cease.

We are safe enough, said Jaspar then, In vain I pray'd him to forbear,

If that be all thy fear! Though wealth enough has he!

Nor eye below, nor eye above, God be to him as merciless

Can pierce the darkness here. As he has been to me!

That instant as the murderer spake When Jaspar saw the poor man's soul

There came a sudden light; On all his ills intent,

Strong as the mid-day-sun it shone, He plied him with the heartening cup, · And with him forth he went.

Though all around was night:

It hung upon the willow-tree, This landlord on his homeward road

It hung upon the flood, 'Twere easy now to meet.

It gave to view the poplar-isle, The road is lonesome, Jonathan !-

And all the scene of blood. And vengeance, man! is sweet.

The traveller who journies there, He listen'd to the tempter's voice,

He surely hath espied The thought it made him start; . .

A madman who has made his home His head was hot, and wretchedness

Upon the river's side. Had harden'd now his heart.

His cheek is pale, his eye is wild, Along the lonely road they went

His look bespeaks despair; And waited for their prey,

For Jaspar since that hour has made They sate them down beside the stream

His home unshelter'd there. That cross'd the lonely way.

And fearful are his dreams at night,

And dread to him the day; They sate them down beside the stream,

He thinks upon his untold crime,
And never a word they said,

And never dares to pray.
They sate and listen'd silently
To hear the traveller's tread.

The summer-suns, the winter-stornus, The night was calm, the night was dark,

O'er bin unheeded roll, No star was in the sky,

For heavy is the weight of blood The wind it waved the willow-boughs,

Upon the maniac's soul! The stream flow'd quietly.

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Haste, haste-ply swift and strong the oar! A soldier with his knapsack on
Haste--haste across the stream!

Came travelling o'er the down; Again Lord William heard a cry

The sun was strong and he was tired, Like Edmund's drowning scream.

And he of the old man enquired:

How far to Bristol town?
I heard a child's distressful voice,
The boatman cried again.

Half an hour's walk for a young Nay hasten on-the night is dark

By lanes and fields and stiles; And we should search in vain.

But you the foot-path do not koos,

And if along the road you go O God! Lord William, dost thou know

Why then 'tis three good miles, How dreadful 'tis to die? And canst thou without pitying hear A child's expiring cry?

The soldier took his knapsack off,

For he was hot and dry; How horrible it is to sink

And out his bread and cheese he tond.

And he sat down beside the brook Beneath the closing stream,

To dine in company. To stretch the powerless arms in vain,


In vain for help to scream!

Old friend! in faith, the soldier way The shriek again was heard: it came

I envy you almost; More deep, more piercing loud;

My shoulders have been sorely prest, That instant o'er the flood the moon

And I should like to sit and rest Shone through a broken cloud;

My back against that post. And near them they beheld a child,

In such a sweltering day as this Upon a crag he stood,

A knapsack is the devil! A little crag, and all around

And if on t'other side I sat, Was spread the rising flood..

It would not only spoil our chat

But make me seem uncivil.
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approach'd his resting-place;

The old man laugh'd and moved- va The moon-beam shone upon the child,

It were a great-arm'd chair! And show'd how pale his face.

But this may help a man at need:

| And yet it was a cursed deed Now reach thine hand! the boatman cried, That ever brought it there.

Lord William, reach and save! The child stretch'd forth his little hands There's a poor girl lies buried here, To grasp the hand he gave.

Beneath this very place,

The earth upon her corpse is prest Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd | The stake is driven into her breast, Was cold and damp and dead!

And a stone is on her face.
He felt young Edmund in his arms
A heavier weight than lead.

The soldier had but just leant back.

And now he half rose up. The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk There's sure no harın in dining here, Beneath the avenging stream,

My friend ? and yet, to be sincere, He rose, he shriek'd, -no human ear

I should not like to sup. Heard William's drowning scream.

God rest her! she is still enough

Who sleeps bencath my feet! The old man cried.-No harm 1 tron

She ever did herself, though now THE CROSS-ROADS.

She lies where four roads meet.

THERE was an old man breaking stones

To mend the turnpike-way;
He sate him down beside a brook,
And out his bread and cheese he took,

For now it was mid-day.

I have past by about that hour

When men are not most brave; It did not make my courage fail. And I have heard the nightingale

Sing sweetly on her grave.

He leant his back against a post,

His feet the brook ran by;
And there were water-cresses growing,
And pleasant was the water's flowing,

For he was hot and dry.

I have past by about that hour

When Ghosts their freedom have;
But there was here no ghastly sight.
And quietly the glow-worm's light
I Was shining on her grave.

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And she was a poor parish-girl

Who came up from the west; From service hard she ran away,

GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A BISHOP. And at that house in evil day Was taken in to rest..!

TAB summer and autumn had been so wet,

That in winter the corn was growing yet, The man he was a wicked man,

'Twas a piteous sight to see all around And an evil life he led;

The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Rage made his face grow deadly white,
And his gray eyes were large and light,

Every day the starving poor
And in anger they grew red.

Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,

For he had a plentiful last-year's store, Che man was bad, the mother worse,

And all the neighbourhood could tell
Bad fruit of evil stem;

His granaries were furnish'd well.
Twould make your hair to stand on-end
f I should tell to you, my friend,
The things that were told of them!

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day

To quiet the poor without delay, Vidst see an out-house standing by ?

He bade them to his great Barn repair, The walls alone remain;

And they should have food for the winter t was a stable then, but now

there. ts mossy roof has fallen through All rotted by the rain.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,

The poor folk flockd from far and near ; he poor girl she had served with them The great Barn was full as it could hold Some half-a-year or more,

Of women and children, and young and old. Then she was found hung up one day, tiff as a corpse and cold as clay,

Then when he saw it could hold no more, Behind that stable-door!

Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;

And while for mercy on Christ they call, is a wild and lonesome place,

He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all. No hut or house is near; jould one meet a murderer there alone TV'faith 'tis an excellent bonfire ! quoth he. were vain to scream, and the dying groan | And the country is greatly obliged to me, Would never reach mortal ear.

For ridding it in these times forlorn

Of Rats that only consume the corn. id there were strange reports about; But still the Coroner found iat she by her own hand had died,

So then to his palace returned he, id should buried be by the way-side

| And he sat down to supper merrily, And not in Christian ground.

And he slept that night like an innocent man,

But Bishop Hatto never slept again. is was the very place he chose, Just where these four roads met;

In the morning as he enter'd the hall, d I was one among the throng

Where his picture hung against the wall, at hither follow'd them along,

A sweat like death all over him came, shall never the sight forget!

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 in the Rhine, replied he, 1
'Tis 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


François Petrarque,fort renommé entre les Poétes
Italiens, discourant en une epistre son voyage
de France et de l'Allemagne, nous raconte que
passant par la ville d'Aix, il apprit de quelques
Prestres une histoire prodigieuse qu'ils tenoient
de main en main pour tres véritable. Qui esteit
que Charles le Grand, apres avoir conquesté
plusieurs pays, s'esperdit de telle façon en I
mour d'une simple femme, que mettant tout kos-
neur et reputation en arriere, il oublia Boa
seulement les affaires de son royaume, mais
aussi le soin de sa propre personne, au grand
desplaisir de chacun estant seulement ententii
a courtiser ceste dame: laquelle par bonheur
commença à s'aliter d'une grosse maladie, qui
lui apporta la mort. Dont les Princes et grands
Seigneurs furent fort resjonis, esperans que per
ceste mort, Charles reprendroit comme devant
et ses esprits et les affaires du royaume en main:
toutesfois il se trouva tellement infatué de ceste
amour, qu' encoreg cherissoit-il ce cadavre, l'en-
brassant, baisant, accolant de la mesme façon que
devant, et au lieu de prester l'oreille aus lego
tions qui lui survenoient, il l'entretenoit de
mille bayes, comme s'il eust esté plein de vie
Ce corps commençoit deja non seulement à mal
sentir, mais aussi se tournoit en putrefaction,
neantmoins n'y avoit aucun de ses favoris qui
luy en osast parler; dont advint que l'Arcte.
vesque Turpin mieux advisé que les autres, pour-
pensa que telle chose ne pouvoit estre adrenut
sang quelque sorcellerie. Au moyen de que
espiant un jour l'heure que le Roy s'estoit ab
senté de la chambre, commença de fouiller le
corps de toutesparts, finalement trouva dass
bouche au dessous de sa langue un anneau ce
lui osta. Ce jour mesme Charlemaigne retear-
nant sur ses premieres brisées, se troeva fart
estonné de voir une carcasse ainsi puante. Par
quoy, comme s'il se fust resveillé d'un profond
sommeil, commanda que l'on l'ensevelist presp
ment. Ce qui fut fait; mais en contr'eschane
de ceste folie, il tourna tous ses pensemens ved
l'Archevesque porteur de cest anneau, De poe-
vant estre de là en avant sans lui, et le suivati
en tons les endroits. Quoy voyant ce sare Press
et craignant que cest anneau ne tombast en maiss
de quelque autre, le jetta dans un lac prochain
de la ville. Depuis lequel temps on dit que e
Roy se trouve si espris de l'amour du lies, qui
ne desempara la ville d'Aix, on il batit a to
lais, et un Monastere, en l'un desquels il paris
Je reste de ses jours et en l'autre voulut estre
ensevely, ordonnant par son testament que te
les Empereurs de Rome eussent a se faire sacret
premierement en ce lieu. PASQUIER 1611.

He listend and look'd ;-it was only the cat;
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, and 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.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did he tell,
As louder and louder drawing near
The saw of their teeth without he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door, I was strange that he loved her, for youth And through the walls by thousands they

was gone by, pour,

And the bloom of her beauty was filed; And down from the ceiling and up through | 'Twas the glance of the harlot that gleamt the floor,

in her eye, From the right and the left, from behind | And all but the Monarch could plainly de and before,

cry From within and without, from above and from whence came her white and her ree

below, And all at once to the Bishop they go.

Yet he thought with Agatha none mig

compare, They have whetted their teeth against the

And he gloried in wearing her chain;

stones, And now they pick the Bishop's bones,

The court was a desert if she were

there, They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb, For they were sent to do judgment on him! To him she alone among women seen!

| Such dotage possess'd Charlemain.


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