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Let us well then these fortunate moments
employ!
Cried the Monarch with passionate tone:
Come away then,dear charmer,—my angel,—

my joy, Nay struggle not now, — 'tis in vain to be coy, And remember that wc are alone.

Blessed Mary, protect mc! the Archbishop cried;

What madness is come to the King! In vain to escape from the Monarch he tried, When luckily he on his finger espied

The glitter of Agatha's ring.

Overjoy'd, tho old Prelate remember'd the
spell,
And far in the lake flung the ring;
The waters closed round it, and, wondrous

to tell, Released from the cursed enchantment of hell, His reason return'd to the King.

But he built him a palace there close by
tho bny,
And there did he 'stablish his reign;
And the traveller who will, may behold at

this day
A monument still in the ruins of Aix
Of the spell that possess'd Charlemain.

THE PIOUS PAINTER.

I.

Tiikrk once was a Painter in Catholic days,

Like Job who eschewed all evil. Still on his Madonnas the curious may gaze With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly his praise And delight was in painting the Devil.

They were Angels, compared to the Devils

he drew,

Who besieged poor St. Anthony's cell;

Such burning hot eyes, such a furnace-like

hue! And round them a sulphurous vapour he threw

That their breath seem'd of brimstone to smell.

And now had the artist a picture begun, 'Twas over the Virgin's church door; She stood on the Dragon embracing her Son, Many Devils already the artist had done, But this must out-do all before.

The Old Dragon's imps as they fled throats the air At seeing it paused on the wing; For he had the likeness so just to a hair That they came as Apollyon himself hd been there, To pay their respects to their King.

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

What the Painter so earnestly thought m by day. He sometimes would dream of by night; But once he was startled as sleeping he lav: 'Twas no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey, That the Devil himself was in sight

You rascally dauber! old Beelzebub cries. Take heed how yon wrong me agais!

Though your caricatures for myself I despw.

Make me handsomer now in the multituie't eyes. Or see if I threaten in vain!

Now the Painter was bold, and religion beside, And on faith he had certain reliance. So carefully he the grim countenance trti. And thank'd him for sitting, with Catbafic pride. And sturdily bade him defiance.

Betimes in the morning the Painter
He is ready as soon as 'tis light.

Every look, every line, every feature hf knows,

'Tis fresh in his eye, to his labour he gss And he has the old Wicked One quite

Happy man! he is sure the resemblance cn'i
fail;
The tip of the nose is red-hot.
There's his grin and his fangs, bis skin coi rr i

with scale, And that the identical curl of his tail,— Not a mark, not a claw, is forgot.

He looks and retouches again with delight.

'Tis a portrait complcat to his mind! He touches again, and again gluts his sight; He looks round for applause, and he set* with affright

The Original standing behind.

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They open the dungeon;—behold in liis place

In the corner old Beelzebub lay. He smirks and he smiles and he leers with

a grace, That the Fainter might catch all the charms of his face, Then vanish'd in lightning away.

Quoth the Painter: I trust you'll suspect me no more, Since you find my assertions were true. But I'll alter the picture above the Churchdoor, For I never saw Satan so closely before, And I must give the Devil his due.

KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.

While Henry V. lay at the siege of Drem, an honest Hermit, unknown to him, came and told him the great evils he brought on Christendom by his onjust ambition, who usurped the kingdom of France, against all manner of right, and contrary to the will of God; wherefore in his holy name he threatened him with a severe and .nodden punishment, if he desisted not from his enterprise. Henry took this exhortation either as an Idle whimsey, or a suggestion of the Dauphin's, and was but the more confirmed in his design. But the blow soon followed the threatening; for within some few months after, he was smitten with a strange and incurable disease.

Hk past unquestion'd through the camp,

Their heads the soldiers bent
In silent reverence, or begg'd

A blessing as he went;
And so the Hermit past along

And rcach'd the royal tent.

King Henry sate in his tent alone,

The map before him lay;
Fresh conquests he was planning there

To grace the future day.

King Henry lifted up his eyes

The intruder to behold;
With reverence he the Hermit saw,

For the holy man was old.
His look was gentle as a Saint's

And yet his eye was bold.

Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs
Which thou hast done this land!

0 King, repent in time, for know
The judgment is at hand.

1 have past forty years of peace
Reside the river Hlaisc,

But what a weight of woe hast thou
Laid an my latter days!

I used to sec along the stream

The white sail sailing down, That wafted food in better timet*

To yonder peaceful town.

Henry! I never now behold
The white sail sailing down,

Famine, Disease, and Death, and Thou
Destroy that wretched town.

I used to hear the traveller's voice

As here he past along,
Or maiden as she loiter'd home

Singing her even-song.

No traveller's voice may now be beard.

In fear he hastens by,
But I have heard the village-maid

In vain for succour cry.

I used to see the youths row down
And watch the dripping oar,

As pleasantly their viol's tones
Came softened to the shore.

King Henry, many a blacken'd corpse

I now see floating down!
Thou bloody man! repent in time

And leave this leaguer'd town.

I shall go on, King Henry cried,
And conquer this good land!

Seest thou not, Hermit, that the Lord
Hath given it to my hand?

The Hermit heard King Henry speak.

And angrily look'd down,—
His face was gentle, and for that

More solemn was his frown.

What if no miracle from heaven
The murderer's arm controul,

Think you for that the weight of bleed
Lies lighter on his soul?

Thou conqueror King, repent in tine,

Or dread the coming woe! For, Henry, thou hast heard the tkrett.

And soon shalt feel the blow!

King Henry forced a careless smile.

As the Hermit went his way; Hut Henry soon remember'd him

Upon his dying day.

A BALLAD,

OF A YOUNG MAN THAT WOULD READ t!»lt"rrt BOOKS, AND HOW HB WAS PlKlfnXB

VERY PITHY AND PROFITABLE

Cornemiis Agrippa went out one day.
IIis Study he lock'd ere he went awsv.
And he gave the key of the door to'

wife. And charged her to keep it lock'd on her hi ml if any one ask my Study to sec,

charge you trust them not with the key; Vhoever may heg, and entreat, and implore, In yonr life let nobody enter that door.

'here lived a young man in the house, who

in vain iccess to that Study had sought to obtain; i ml he begg'd and pray'd the books to see, "ill the foolish woman gave him the key.

>n the Study-table a book there lay, Vhich Agrippa himself had been reading

th.U day, "ho letters were written with blood within, i ml the leaves were made of dead men's skin.

i ml these horrible leaves of magic between Vere the ugliest pictures that ever were seen, 'lie likeness of things so foul to behold, 'hut what they were is not fit to be told.

f'lie young man, he began to read
le knew not what, but he would proceed,
rVhen there was heard a sound at the door
Vhich as he read on grew more and more.

Lml more and more the knocking grew,
I'lie young man knew not what to do;
Jut trembling in fear he sat within,
rill the door was broke, and the Devil came in.

I'wo hideous horns on his head he had got,
.like iron heated nine times red-hot;
rhc breath of his nostrils was brimstone-blue,
Inil his tail like a fiery serpent grew.

iVhat wouldst thou with me? the Wicked

One cried, tut not a word the young man replied; ivery hair on his head was standing upright, Lnd his limbs like a palsy shook with affright.

iVliat wouldst thou with me? cried the

Author of ill, lut the wretched young man was silent still; <lot a word had his lips the power to say, Ind his marrow scem'd to be melting away.

iVliat wouldst thou with me? the third

time he cries, Wul a flash of lightning came from his eyes, Wid he lifted his griflln-claw in the air, Ind the young man had not strength for a prayer.

lis eyes red fire and fury dart
Is out he tore the young man's heart;
ic grinn'd a horrible grin at his prey,
Vnd in a clap of thunder vanish'd away.

THE MORAL.

Icnccforth let all young men take heed low in a Conjuror's books they read.

ST. ROMUALD.

Lee Catalans ayant appris que St. Itomualil vouloit

3uitter leurs pays, en furent Ires affligez; its elibererent sur lee nioyeiiH tie l'cn empecher, et le seul qu'ils Imaginerent coinme le phis sur, I'm dc le tuer, alio tie prolHer duinoins de sea reliques el des guerisons et autres miracles qu'clles ope'reroient apre's sa mort. La devotion

3uc Ies Catalans avoient pnur lui, ne pint point u tout a St. Romuald; il uea de stratageme et lcor e'ehappa. St. Foix ettai* hist, tur Paru.

St. Foix, who is often more amusing than trustworthy, has fathered the story upon the Spaniards, though it belongs to bis own countrymen, the circumstance having happened when Romuald was a monk of the Convent of St. Michael in Aquitaine.

One day, it matters not to know

How many hundred years ago,

A Frenchman stopt at an inn-door:

The Landlord came to welcome him, and chat

Of this and that, For he had seen the Traveller there before.

Doth holy Romuald dwell
Still in his cell?
The Traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead?
No; he has left his loving flock, and we
So good a Christian never more shall sec,
ThcLandlord answer'd,and he shook his head.

Ah, Sir! we knew his worth
If ever there did live a Saint on enrth!
Why, Sir, he always used to wear a shirt
For thirty days, all seasons, day and night:
Good man. he knew it was not right
For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt;
And then he only hung it out in the rain,
And put it on again.
There has been perilous work
With him and the devil there in yonder cell;
For Satan used to maul him like a Turk.
There they would sometimes fight
All through a winter's night,
From sun-set until morn,
He with a cross, the Devil with his horn;
The Devil spitting fire with might and main
Enough to make St. Michael half afraid;
He splashing holy water till he made
His red hide hiss again,
And the hot vapour fill'd the smoking cell.
This wns so common that his face became
All black and yellow with the brimstone-flame.
And then he smelt,—Oh Lord! how he did
smell!

Then, Sir! to see how he would mortify
The Flesh! If any one had dainty furc,
Good man, he would come there.
And look at all the delicate things, and cry,

O Belly, Belly!
Yon would he gormandizing now I know;

But it shall not be so;— Home to your bread and water—home I tell ye!

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