And the choristers' song, that late was so strong, Grew a quaver of consternation,

For the church did rock, as an earthquake shock Uplifted its foundation.

And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast, That shall one day wake the dead;

The

strong church door could bear no more,

And the bolts and the bars they fled.

And the tapers' light was extinguish'd quite,

And the choristers faintly sung,

And the priests, dismay'd, panted and pray'd, Till fear froze every tongue.

And in he came, with eyes of flame,

The Fiend to fetch the dead,

And all the church with his presence glow'd
Like a fiery furnace red.

He laid his hand on the iron chains,

And like flax they moulder'd asunder; And the coffin lid, that was barr'd so firm, He burst with his voice of thunder.

And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise,
And come with her master away;

And the cold sweat stood on the cold cold corpse,
At the voice she was forced to obey.

She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,

Her dead flesh quiver'd with fear,

And a

groan

like that which the Old Woman

gave

Never did mortal hear.

She followed the Fiend to the church door,

There stood a black horse there,

His breath was red like furnace smoke,

The fiendish force flung her on the horse,

And he leap'd up before,

And

away like the lightning's speed they went,

And she was seen no more.

They saw her no more, but her cries and shrieks
For four miles round they could hear,

And children at rest at their mothers' breast,
Started and scream'd with fear.

No. XXV.

BISHOP BRUNO.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

BISHOP BRUNO awoke in the dead midnight,
And he heard his heart beat loud with affright,
He dreamt he had rung the palace bell,

And the sound it gave was his passing knell.

Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain,

He turn'd to sleep, and he dreamt again;

He rung at the palace gate once more,

And Death was the porter that open'd the door.

He started up at the fearful dream,

And he heard at his window the screech-owl scream;

Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,

O glad was he when he saw the day-light.

Now forth he goes

in proud array,

For he with the Emperor dines to-day;
There was not a baron in Germany,

That went with a nobler train than he.

Before and behind his soldiers ride,
The people throng'd to see the pride;
They bow'd the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody bless'd him as he went.

He went so stately and so proud,

When he heard a voice that cried aloud

--"Ho! ho! Bishop Bruno! you travel with glee, "But know, Bishop Bruno, you travel to me."

Behind, and before, and on either side,
He look'd, but nobody he espied;

And the Bishop he grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words distinct and clear.

And when he rung at the palace bell,
He almost expected to hear his knell ;
And when the porter turn'd the key,
He almost expected Death to see.

But soon the Bishop recover'd his glee,
For the Emperor welcom'd him royally;
And now the tables were spread, and there
Were choicest wines, and dainty fare.

And now the Bishop had bless'd the meat,
When a voice was heard, as he sat in his seat;

." With the Emperor now you are dining in glee, "But know, Bishop Bruno, you sup with me."

The Bishop then grew pale with affright,

And instantly lost his appetite;

And all the wine and dainty cheer

Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear.

But by little and little recover'd he,
For the wine went flowing merrily,

And he forgot his former dread,

And his cheeks again grew rosy

red.

When he sat down to the royal fare,
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there;

But when the maskers enter'd the hall,

He was the merriest man of all.

N