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And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning ;
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering;
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this way the Water comes down at Lodore.
JUDGMENT ON A WICKED BISHOP.
The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet,
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Every day the starving poor
Crowded round Bishop Hatto's door,
For he had a plentiful last-year's store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnish'd well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay;
He bade them to his great Barn repair,
And they should have food for the winter there.
Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
folk flock'd from far and near ;
The great Barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old. .
Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy with shrieks 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 entered 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,..
May heaven 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 climbed the shores so steep.
the tower their
is bent, To do the work for which they were sent.
They are not to be told by the dozen or score,
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more,
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witness'd of
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did he tell,
As louder and louder drawing near
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.
And in at the windows and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter 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 gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him !
FROM THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.
THE child, amidst the forest bower,
Stood rooted like a lilye flower ;
And when at length, with trembling pace,
He sought to find where Branksome lay,
He feared to see that grisly face
Glare from some thicket on his
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on,
And deeper in the wood is gone
For aye the more he sought his way,
The farther still he went astray-
Until he heard the mountains round
Ring to the baying of a hound.
And hark ! and hark! the deep-mouthed bark
Comes nigher still, and nigher;
Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound,
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground,
And his red eyes shot fire.
Soon as the wildered child saw he,
He flew at him right furiouslie.
I ween you would have seen with joy
The bearing of the gallant boy,
When, worthy of his noble sire,
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire !
He faced the blood-hound manfully,
And held his little bat on high ;
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed
But still in act to spring ;