Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all.

"I'faith 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he, "And the country is greatly obliged to me, For ridding it in these times forlorn

Of Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,

And he slept that night like an innocent man,
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he enter'd the hall
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,

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 on the Rhine,” replied he, ""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 came.

He listen'd and look'd;...it was only the Cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, For she sat screaming, mad 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,
And through the walls by thousands they pour,
And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop's bones,

They knaw'd the flesh from every limb,

For they were sent to do judgement on him!

1799.

THE PIOUS PAINTER.

The story of the Pious Painter is related in the Pia Hilaria of Gazæus, but the Catholic Poet has omitted the concluThis is to be found in the Fabliaux of Le Grand.

sion.

THE FIRST PART.

THERE 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.