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That very morn the Landlord's power
Had seized the little left,
Of every thing bereft.
The night was calm, the air was still,
Sweet sung the nightingale;
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 dares to pray.
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.
Haste, haste-ply swift and strong the oar! A soldier with his knapsack on
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?
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 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.
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;
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;
For he was hot and dry.
I have past by about that hour
When Ghosts their freedom have;
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.
Every day the starving poor
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
His granaries were furnish'd well.
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,
Another came running presently,
I'll go to my tower in the Rhine, replied he, 1
Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away,
He laid him down and closed his eyes;
François Petrarque,fort renommé entre les Poétes
He listend and look'd ;-it was only the cat;
For they have swam over the river so deep,
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
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.