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| When he sat down to the royal fare
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there; Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight, But when the masquers enter'd the ball, And ho heard his heart beat loud with af-He was the merriest man of all.
fright: He dreamt he had rung the palace-bell,
Then from amid the masquers' crowd And the sound it gave was his passing knell.
There went a voice hollow and loud,
You have past the day, Bishop Bruno, in glee! Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain, He turned to sleep and he dreamt again;
But you must pass the night with me! He rung at the palace-gate once more, And Death was the porter that open'd the door. His cheek grows pale, and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair; He started up at the fearful dream,
With that there came one from the masquers' And he heard at his window the screech-owl
And took the Bishop by the hand. Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,Oh! glad was he when he saw the day-light! The bony hand suspended his breath,
His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death; Now he goes forth in proud array,
On saints in vain he attempted to call, For he with the Emperor dines to-day; Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace-hall. There was not a Baron in Germany That went with a nobler train than he.
Before and behind his soldiers ride,
It is Antidius the Bishop
Who now at even-tide
| The Devil had business that evening,
And he upon earth would go; Behind and before and on either side,
For it was in the month of August,
And the weather was close below.
He had his books to settle,
To do it there in the evening-air,
All by the river-side. le almost expected Death to see.
His imps came flying around him, But soon the Bishop recover'd his glee, of his affairs to tell; for the Emperor welcom'd him royally; From the north, and the south, and the east, And now the tables were spread, and there
and the west; Were choicest wines and dainty fare.
They brought him the news that he liked best,
Of the things they had done, and the souls Ind now the Bishop bad blest the meat,
they had won, When a voice was heard as he sat in his And how they sped well in the service of Hell.
|"There came a devil posting in
Seven years had he been gone from Hell,
And now he came grinning for joy. Ul the wine and dainty cheer ould not comfort his heart so sick with fear. Seven years, quoth he, of trouble and toil
Have I labour'd the Pope to win; But by little and little recovered he, And I to-day bave canght him, for the wine went flowing merrily, He hath done the deadly sin. ind he forgot his former dread,
And then he took the Devil's book, ind his chceks again grew rosy-red. And wrote the deed therein.
Oh, then King Beelzebub for joy, | Bat would you know the ya mv He drev his month so wide,
| You can easily fard the way. You might have seen his iron teeth, | It is a broad and a rebovu rad Foar and forty from side to side.
That is travelrd by night ami by day.
He wagg'd his ears, he twisted his tail,
| And you must look in the Dento bank: 1 He knew not for joy what to do,
You will find one debt that was never page In his hoofs and his horns, in his heels and
If you search the leaves throaght;
his corns, It tickled him all through.
And that is the mystery of this waterfall
And the way to find it out
QUEEN ORRACA, AND THE FIVE And he waid a Pater-noster
MARTYRS OF MOROCCO A, fast as he could say, And made a cross on the Devil's head, The friars five have girt their laims. And bade him to Rome away.
And taken staff in hand;
And never shall those friars agaia
Hear mass in Christian land.
To thank her and bless her then;
And Queen Orraca in tears
Knelt to the holy men.
Three things, Queen Orraca,
We prophecy to you: a fall.
Hear us, in the name of God!
For time will prove them true.
Christ hath vonchsafed it thus:
We shall shed our blood for him
To Coimbra shall our bodies be brought: Which was not in the Almanack.
For such is the will divine;
That Christians may behold and feel The Bishop just as they set out,
Blessings at our shrine.
And when unto that place of rest
Our bodies shall draw nigh, The Pope fell down upon his knees,
Who sees us first, the King or you, In terror and confusion,
That one that night must die.
Fare thee well, Queen Orraca :
For thy soul a mass we will say, And all the Popes in bliss that be,
Every day while we do live,
And on thy dying day.
The friars they blest her, one by one,
Where she knelt on her knee ; Down in the Devil's den.
And they departed to the land
Of the Moors beyond the sea.
What news, oh King Alfonso !
Have they preach'd to the Miramamelis. And I wish that I could tell.'
And are they still alive?
That on a dunghill they should rot, As the King and his knights went down the The bloody Moor decreed;
hill That their dishonour'd bodies should
A wild boar crost the way; The dogs and vultures feed :
Follow him! follow him! cried the King:
We have time by the Queen's delay! But the thunder of God rollid over them,
And the lightning of God flash'd round | A-hunting of the boar astray Nor thing impure, nor man impure,
Is King Alfonso gone: Could approach the holy ground.
Slowly, slowly, but straight the while,
Queen Orraca is coming on.
And winding now the train appears
Between the olive-trees : In Coimbra to be shrined.
Queen Orraca alighted then,
And fell upon her knees.
The friars of Alanquer came first,
And next the relics past ;
Queen Orraca look'd to see Are dight in their richest array.
The King and his knights come last. Every bell in Coimbra
She heard the horses tramp behind : Doth merrily, merrily ring;
At that she turn'd her face : The clergy and the knights await,
King Alfonso and his knights came up To go forth with the Queen and the King.
All panting from the chase. Come forth, come forth, Queen Orraca!
Have pity upon my poor soul, We make the procession stay.
Holy Martyrs five! cried she: I beseech thee, King Alfonso,
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Go you alone to-day.
Virgin, pray for me! I have pain in my head this morning
That day in Coimbra, I am ill at heart also :
Many a heart was gay; Go without me, King Alfonso,
But the heaviest heart in Coimbra, For I am too sick to go.
Was that poor Queen's that day.
All in robes of russet gray,
quos habuit superstites, monachum videli
monacham, per epistolam invitavit; adsen Poorly were they dight;
autem voce singultiente alloquitur. Ego, im Each one girdled with a cord,
o pueri, meo miserabili fato daemoniacis som Like a friar minorite.
artibus inservivi; ego omnium vitiorum ce ego illecebrarum omnium fui magistra Es
tamen mihi inter hæc mala spes vextra te But from those robes of russet grey,
nis, quæ meam solidaret animam desperata2 There flow'd a heavenly light;
expectabam propugnatores contra damage 2 For each one was the blessed soul
tores contra saevissimos hostes. Nunc i Of a friar minorite.
quoniam ad finem vitæ perveni, rogo ve materna ubera, ut mea tentatis alleviate
menta. Insuite me defunctam in corio cerum Brighter than their brethren,
ac deinde in sarcophago lapideo supponite, Among the beautiful band,
columque ferro et plumbo constringite, ac dans Five there were, who each did bear
lapidem tribug catenis ferreis er fortissimi
cumdantes, clericos quinquaginta psalmorusa A palm-branch in his hand.
tores, et tot per tres dies presbyteros miem
celebratores applicate, qui feroces lenigen He who led the brethren,
versariorum incursus. Ita si tribus noctibus
cura jacnero, quarta die me infodite hume. F A living man was he;
tumque est ut præceperat illis. Sed, proh delar And yet he shone the brightest
nil preces, nil lacrymæ, nil demun valsert Of all the company.
tenae. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum che psallentium corpori assistebant, adrenica
Daemones ostium ecclesia confregerent inga Before the steps of the altar,
obice clausum, extremasque catenas mego Each one bow'd his head;
levi dirumpunt; media autem quæ fortior er And then with solemn voice they sung illibata manebat. Tertia autem nocte, circa que The service of the dead.
licinium, strepitu hostium adventantiem, monasterium visum est a fundamento e
Unus ergo dæmonui, et vultu cæteris terra And who are ye, ye blessed saints ?
et statura eminentior, januas Ecclesia ia per The father confessor said ;
violento concussas in fragmenta dejecit. Dives
runt clerici cum laicis, metu steterunt om And for what happy soul sing ye
capilli, et psalmorum concentus defecit. Dans The service of the dead?
ergo gestu ut videbatur arroganti ad sepulcres
accedens, et nomen mulieris modicum ingemine These are the souls of our brethren in bliss, surgere imperavit. Qua respondente, quor
quiret pro vinculis, jam malo tuo, inquit, sal The Martyrs five are we;
ris; et protinus catenam quæ cæterorun fer And this is our father Francisco,
ciam daemonom deluserat, velut stoppeum Among us bodily.
culum rumpebat. Operculum etiam sepele pede depellens, mulierem palam omnibus as
clesia extraxit, ubi præ foribus niger ega We are come hither to perform
perbe hinniens videbatur, uncis ferreis et chau Our promise to the Queen;
undique confixus, super quem misera mulier Go thon to King Alfonso,
jecta, ab oculis assistentiam evanuit. Audirkan
tur tamen clamores per quatuor fere miliar And say what thou hast seen.
horribiles, auxilium postulantes. Ista itaque
retuli incredibila non erunt, si legatur se There was loud knocking at the door, Gregorii dialogus, in quo refert, hominem iar As the heavenly vision fled;
clesia sepultam a dæmonibus foras ejectum. And the porter called to the confessor,
apud Francos Carolus Martellus, insignis vir in
tudinis, qui Saracenos Galliam ingresses I To tell him the Queen was dead.
paniam redire compulit, exactis vitæ sne dich in Ecclesia beati Dionysii legitur fuisse se tus. Sed quia patrimonia, cum decimis a fere ecclesiarum Galliæ, pro stipendio co
tonum suoram inutilaverat, miserabiliter A BALLAD,
lignis spiritibus de sepulchro corporaliter *** Bus, osque in hodiernum diem nusquam ennamm
MATHEUS WESTE. SHEWING HOW AN OLD WOMAN BODE DOUBLE, AND WHO RODE BEFORE HER.
The Raven croaked as she sate at her best
And the Old Woman knew what he seal A. D. 852. Circa dies istos, mulier quaedam malefica, in villa quae Berkeleia dicitur degens, gu
And she grew pale at the Raven's tale, lae amatrix ac petulantiae, flagitiis modum usque And sickend and went to her bed. in senium et auguriis non ponens, usque ad mortem impudica permansit. Hæc die quadam cum Now fetele me my children and
Now fetch me my children, and fetch the sederet at prandium, cornicula quam pro deliciis pascebat nescio quid garrire cæpit, quo audito,
with speed, mulieris cultellus de manu excidit, simul et fa The Old Woman of Berkeley said, cies pallescere coepit, et emisso rogitu, hodie, The monk my son, and my daughter the DES inquit, ascipiam grande incommodum, hodieque
| Bid them hasten or I shall be dead. ad sulcum ultimum meum pervenit aratrum. Quo dicto, noncius doloris intravit; inuliere vero percunctata ad quid veniret, affero, inquit, tibi The monk her son, and her daughter than filii tui obitum et totius familiæ ejus ex subità Their way to Berkeley went, ruina interitum. Hoc quoque dolore mulier permota, lecto protinus decubuit graviter infirmata :/ And they have brought with pious thoset senticnsque 'morbum subrepere ad vitalia, liberos | The holy sacrament.
The Old Woman shrlek'd as they enter'd her | The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down, door,
And her eyes grew deadly dim, 'Twas fearful her shrieks to hear, Short came her breath and the struggle of Now take the sacrament away,
death For mercy, my children dear!
Did loosen every limb.
Her lip it trembled with agony,
The sweat ran down her brow,
Oh! spare me, my children, now!
They blert the old woman's winding sheet
With rites and prayers due,
And they sprinkled her coffin too.
Away they sent the sacrament,
And they chain'd her in her coffin of stone, The fit it left her weak,
And with iron barr'd it down, She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes, And in the church with three strong chains And faintly struggled to speak.
They chain'd it to the ground.
All kinds of sin I have rioted in,
And the judgment now must be, But I secured my children's souls,
Oh, pray, my children, for me!
| And they blest the chains and sprinkled them,
And fifty priests stood round,
Where she lay on the ground.
I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes,
The fiends have been my slaven,
And feasted on rifled graves.
And fifty sacred choristers
Beside the bier attend her
Should with holy hymns defend her.
And the Devil will fetch me now in fire,
To see the priests and choristers
It was a goodly sight,
Each holding, as it were a staff,
A taper burning bright.
And the church-belle all both great and small,
And they have barr'd the church-door hard,
After the even-song.
And the first night the tapers' light
| But they withont a hideous rout
of angry fiends could hear;
A hideous roar at the church-door
And the priests they pray'd, and the choristers And see that fifty choristers
Louder in fearful zeal.
Loud toll’d the bell, the priests pray'd well, With holy hymns defend me.
The tapers they burnt bright,
| The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, Let the church-bells all both great and small, Be tollid by night and day,
They told their beads all night.
The cock he crew, the fiends they flew
From the voice of the morning away; And ever have the church-door barr'd
Then undisturb'd the choristers sing,
And the fifty priests they pray;
As they had sung and pray'd all night, Let the bars and bolts be strong.
They pray'd and sing all day. And let this be three days and nights The second night the tapers' light My wretched corpse to save,
Burnt dismally and blue, Keep me so long from the fiendish throng, And every one saw his neighbour's face
And then I may rest in my grave. | Like a dead man's face to view.