The fecond night the taper's light
Burnt difmally and blue,

And every one faw his neighbour's face
Like a dead man's face to view.

And yells and cries without arife,

That the ftouteft heart might shock;

And a deafening roaring, like a cataract pouring
Over a mountain rock.

The monk and the nun they told their beads

As faft as they could tell;

And aye, as louder grew the noise,

The fafter went the bell,

Louder and louder the chorifters fung,
As they trembled more and more;
And the fifty priefts pray'd to heaven for aid
They never had pray'd fo before.

The cock he crew, away then flew
The fiends from the herald of day;
And undisturb'd the chorifters fing,
And the fifty priests they pray,

The third night came, and the tapers' flame
A hideous ftench did make ;

And they burnt as though they had been dipp'd
In the burning brimstone lake.

And

And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean,

Grew momently more and more,

And strokes, as of a battering ram,

Did shake the strong church door.

The bellmen they, for very fear, ›
Could toll the bell no longer;
And still, as louder grew the strokes,
Their fear it grew the stronger.

The monk and nun forgot their beads,
They fell on the ground difmay'd;
There was not a fingle faint in heaven
Whom they did not call to aid.

And the chorifters' fong, that late was fo ftrong,
Grew a quaver of confternation,

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

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

The strong church door could bear no more,
And the bolts and bars they fled.

And the tapers' light was extinguish'd quite,
And the chorifters faintly fung,

And the priests, difmay'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 prefence glow'd
Like a fiery furnace red.

He laid his hand on the iron chains,
And like flax they moulder'd afunder;
And the coffin lid, that was barr'd fo firm,
He burst with his voice of thunder.

And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rife,
And come with her mafter away;

And the cold fweat ftood on the cold cold corpfe,
At the voice she was forced to obey.

She rofe on her feet in her winding fheet,

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 ftood a black horse there,
His breath was red like furnace fmoke,

His eyes like a meteor's glare,

The fiendish force flung her on the horse,

And he leap'd up before,

And away like the lightning's fpeed they went,

And she was feen no more.

They

They faw her no more, but her cries and fhrieks
For four miles round they could hear,

And children at reft at their mothers' breaft,
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 found it gave was his paffing knell.

Bishop Bruno fmiled at his fears so vain,
He turn'd to fleep, 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 fcreech-owl scream;

Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,

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

No