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 foldiers ride,
The people throng'd to fee the pride;
They bow'd the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody blefs'd him as he went.
He went so stately and fo 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 fide,
He look'd, but nobody he espied;
And the Bishop he grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words diftinct 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 fee.
But foon the Bishop recover'd his glee,
For the Emperor welcom'd him royally;
And now the tables were spread, and there
Were choiceft wines, and dainty fare.
And now the Bishop had blefs'd the meat, When a voice was heard, as he fat in his feat; "With the Emperor now you are dining in glee, "But know, Bishop Bruno, you fup 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 fick 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 rofy red.
When he fat down to the royal fare,
Bishop Bruno was the faddeft man there;
But when the maskers enter'd the hall,
He was the merrieft man of all.
Then from amid the maskers' crowd
There went a voice hollow and loud;
"You have pass'd the day, Bishop Bruno, with glee, "But you must pass the night with me!"—
His cheek grows pale, and his eye-balls glare,
And ftiff round his tonfure rifes his hair:
With that there came one from the maskers' band,
And he took the Bishop by the hand.
The bony hand fufpended his breath,
His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death;
On faints in vain he attempted to call-
Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall.
eye beheld when William plunged Young Edmund in the stream;
No human ear but William's heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream.
Submiffive all the vaffals own'd
The murderer for their Lord,
And he, the rightful heir, poffefs'd
The house of Erlingford.
The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood midft a fair domain,
And Severn's ample waters near
Roll'd through the fertile plain.
And often the way-faring man
Would love to linger there,
Forgetful of his onward road,
To gaze on scenes fo fair.
But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;
In every wind that swept its waves
He heard young Edmund fcream.
In vain at midnight's filent hour
Sleep closed the murderer's eyes;
In every dream the murderer faw
Young Edmund's form arife.
In vain, by restlefs confcience driven,
Lord William left his home,
Far from the scenes that faw his guilt,
In pilgrimage to roam.
To other climes the pilgrim fled,
But could not fly despair;
He fought his home again, but peace
Was ftill a stranger there.
Each hour was tedious long, yet swift
The months appear'd to roll;
And now the day return'd that shook
With terror William's foul.
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