The old Dragon fled when the wonder he 'fpied,
And curfed his own fruitlefs endeavour;

While the Painter call'd after, his rage to deride,
Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and cried,

་་

-"Now I'll paint thee more ugly than ever!"

PART II.

The Painter fo pious all praise had acquired,
For defying the malice of hell:

The Monks the unerring resemblance admired,
Not a lady lived near but her portrait defired
From one who fucceeded fo well.

One there was to be painted, the number among,
Of features moft fair to behold,

The country around of fair Marguerite rung;
Marguerite she was lovely, and lively, and young,
Her husband was ugly and old.

Oh! Painter, avoid her! Oh! Painter, take care!
For Satan is watchful for you!

Take heed, left you fall in the wicked one's fnare,
The net is made ready-Oh! Painter, beware
Of Satan and Marguerite too!

She

She feats herself now, now the lifts up her head,
On the Artist she fixes her
eyes;

The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,

He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,
And the features of beauty arise.

He is come to her eyes, eyes fo bright and so blue,
There's a look that he cannot express,

His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue,
More and more on the lady he fixes his view,
On the canvas he looks lefs and lefs.

In vain he retouches, her eye fparkles more;
And that look that fair Marguerite gave:
Many devils the Artist had painted of yore;
But he never attempted an Angel before,
St. Anthony help him, and fave!

He yielded, alas! for the truth must be told,
To the woman, the tempter, and fate;
It was fettled, the Lady fo fair to behold,
Should elope from her husband, so ugly and old,
With the Painter fo pious of late.

Now Satan exults in his vengeance complete,

To the husband he makes his fcheme known; Night comes, and the lovers impatiently meet, Together they fly, they are feized in the street,

And in prison the Painter is thrown,

With

With Repentance, his only companion, he lies,
And a dismal companion is the.

On a fudden he faw the old Serpent arise;

"You villainous dauber," old Beelzebub cries, "You are paid for your infults to me.

"But my too tender heart it is eafy to move, "If to what I propose you agree.

"That picture-be fair! the refemblance improve, "Make a handfomer picture-your chains I'll remove, And you fhall this inftant be free."

Overjoy'd, the condition fo eafy he hears,

"I'll make you more handsome,”—he said. He fees that his chain on the Devil appears, Released from his prison, released from his fears, The Painter lies fnug in his bed.

At morn he arifes, compofes his look,
And proceeds to his work as before +

The people beheld him, the culprit they took,
They thought that the Painter his prifon had broke,
And to prison they led him once more.

They open the dungeon-behold in his place,

In the corner, old Beelzebub lay:

He fmirks, and he fimiles, and he leers with a grace,

That the Painter might catch all the charms of his face,

Then vanish'd in lightning away.

Quoth

Quoth the Painter-" I truft you'll fufpect me no more,

"Since you find my denial was true;

"But I'll alter the picture above the church-door,
"For I never faw Satan fo closely before-
"And I must give the Devil his due.”—

No.

No. XXVIII.

DONICA.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

In Finland there is a Castle which is called the New Rock, moated about with a river of unsounded depth, the water black, and the fish therein very distasteful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which foreshew either the death of the Governor, or some prime officer belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of an harper, sweetly singing, and dallying and playing under the water.

It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the Devil walked in her body for the space of two years, so that none suspected but she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was the only sign of death. At length a Magician coming by where she was then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, "fair Maids why keep you company with this dead virgin whom you suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion. The following Ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found in the Notes to the Hierarchies of the blessed Angels; a poem by Thomas Heywood, printed in folio by Adam Islip, 1635

HIGH on a rock, whofe caftled shade
Darken'd the lake below,

In ancient ftrength magestic stood
The towers of Arlinkow.