A-hunting of the boar astray Is King Affonso gone: Slowly, slowly, but straight the while, Queen Orraca is coming on. And winding now the train appears And fell upon her knees. The friars of Alanquer came first, The King and his knights come last. She heard the horses tramp behind; «Have pity upon my poor soul, « Holy Mary, Mother of God, Virgin, pray for me!»> That day in Coimbra, Many a heart was gay; The festival is over, The sun hath sunk in the west; All the people in Coimbra Have betaken themselves to rest. Queen Orraca's father confessor And praying for her sake. Just at the midnight hour, when all All in robes of russet grey Poorly were they dight; But from those robes of russet grey, Brighter than their brethren Among the beautiful band, He who led the brethren, A living man was he; Before the steps of the altar, Each one bow'd his bead; «And who are ye, ye blessed saints ?» «And for what happy souls sing ye The service of the dead?» " << These are the souls of our brethren in bliss, The Martyrs five are we : And this is our father Francisco, Among us bodily. « We are come hither to perform And say what thou hast seen.»> There was loud knocking at the door, A BALLAD, 1803. SHEWING HOW AN OLD WOMAN RODE DOUBLE, AND WHO RODE BEFORE HER. A. D. 852. Circa dies istos, mulier quædam malefica, în villà quæ Berkeleia dicitur degens, gulæ amatrix ac petulantia, flagitiis modum usque in senium et auguriis non ponens, usque ad mortem impudica permansit. Hæc die quadam cam sederet ad prandium, cornicula quam pro delitiis pascebat, nescio quid garrire cœpit; quo audito, mulieris cultellus de manu excidit, simul et facies pallescere cœpit, et emisso rugitu, bodie, inquit, accipiam grande incommodum, hodieque ad sulcum ultimum meum pervenit aratrum. Quo dicto, nuncius doloris intravit; muliere vero percunctata ad quid veniret, affero, inquit, tibi filii tui obitum et totius familia ejus ex subità ruinà interitum. Hoc quoque dolore mulier permota, lecto protinus decubuit graviter infirmata; sentiensque morbum subrepere ad vitalia, liberos quos habuit superstites, monachum videlicet et monacham, per epistolam invitavit; advenientes autem Voce singultiente alloquitur. Ego, inquit, o pueri, meo miserabili fato dæmoniacis semper artibus inservivi; ego omnium vitiorum sentina, ego illecebrarum omnium fui magistra. Erat tamen mihi inter hæc mala, spes vestræ religionis, quæ meam solidaret animam desperatam; vos expectabam propugnatores contra dæmones, tutores contra sævissimos hostes. Nunc igitur quoniam ad finem vitæ perveni, rogo vos per materna ubera, ut mea tentatis alleviare tormenta. Insuite me defunctam in corio cervino, ac deinde in sarcophago lapideo supponite, operculumque ferro et plumbo constringite, ac demum lapidem tribus cathenis ferreis et fortissimis circundantes, clericos quinquaginta psalmorum cantores, et tot per tres dies presbyteras missarum celebratores applicate, qui feroces lenigent adversariorum incursus. Ita si tribus noctibus secura jacuero, quartà die me infodite humo. Factumque est ut præceperat illis. Sed, proh dolor! nil preces, nil lachrymæ, nil demum valuere catena. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum chori psallentiam corpori assistebant, advenientes Damones ostium ecclesiæ confregerunt ingenti obice clausum, extremasque cathenas negotio levi dirumpunt; media autem quæ fortior erat, illibata manebat. Tertia autem nocte, circa gallicinium, strepitu hostium adventantium, omne monasterium visum est a fundamento moveri. Unus ergo dæmonum, et vultu cæteris terribilior et statura eminentior, januas Ecclesiæ impetu violento concussas in fragmenta dejecit. Divexerunt clerici cum laicis, metu steterunt omnium capilli, et psalmorum concentus defecit. Dæmon ergo gestu ut videbatur arroganti ad sepulchrum accedens, et nomen mulieris modicum ingeminans, surgere imperavit. Quà respondente, quod nequiret pro vinculis, jam malo tuo, inquit, solveris; et protinus catbenam quæ cæterorum ferociam dæmonum deluserat, velut stuppeum vinculum rumpebat. Operculum etiam sepulchri pede depellens, mulierem palam omnibus ab ecclesià extraxit, ubi præ foribus niger equus superbe hinniens videbatur, uncis ferreis et clavis undíque confixus, super quem misera mulier projecta, ab oculis assistentium evanuit. Audiebantur tamen clamores per quatuor fere miliaria horribiles, auxilium postulantes. Ista itaque quæ retuli incredibilia non erunt, si legatur beati Gregorii dialogus, in quo refert, hominem in ecclesià sepultum, a damonibus foras ejectum. Et apud Francos Carolus Martellus insignis vir fortitudinis, qui Saracenos Galliam ingressos, Hispaniam redire compulit, exactis vitæ suæ diebus, in Ecclesia beati Dionysii legitur fuisse sepultus. Sed quia patrimonia, cum decimis omnium fere ecclesiarum Galliæ, pro stipendio commilitonum suorum mutilaverat, miserabiliter a malignis spiritibus de sepulchro corporaliter avulsus, usque in hodiernum diem nusquam comparuit.-Matthew of Westminster. This story is also related by Olaus Magnus, and in the Nuremberg Chronicle. THE Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal, And she grew pale at the Raven's tale, «Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed,» The Old Woman of Berkeley said, << The monk my son, and my daughter the nun, Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.»> The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, And they have brought with pious thought The Old Woman shriek'd as they enter'd her door, 'T was fearful her shrieks to hear, «Now take the sacrament away, For mercy, my children dear!»> Her lip it trembled with agony, The sweat ran down her brow, << I have tortures in store for evermore, Oh! spare me, my children, now!» Away they sent the sacrament, The fit it left her weak, She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes, And faintly struggled to speak. « And see that fifty choristers And day and night by the taper's light, «Let the church bells all both great and small, Be toll'd by night and day, To drive from thence the fiends who come << And ever have the church door barr'd And I beseech you, children dear, « And let this be three days and nights The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down, Short came her breath and the struggle of death They blest the old woman's winding-sheet With holy water they sprinkled her shroud, And they chain'd her in her coffin of stone, And with iron barr'd it down, And in the church with three strong chains They chain'd it to the ground. And they blest the chains and sprinkled them, And fifty priests stood round, By night and day the mass to say Where she lay on the ground. And fifty sacred choristers Beside the bier attend her, To see the priests and choristers Each holding, as it were a staff, A taper burning bright. And the church bells all both great and small, Did toll so loud and long, And they have barr'd the church door hard, After the even song. And the first night the tapers' light Burnt steadily and clear, But they without a hideous rout A hideous roar at the church door Like a long thunder peal, And the priests they pray'd and the choristers sung Louder in fearful zeal. Loud toll'd the bell, the priests pray'd well, The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, The cock he crew, the fiends they flew The second night the tapers' light And every one saw his neighbour's face And yells and cries without arise That the stoutest heart might shock, And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring Over a mountain rock. The monk and nun they told their beads As fast as they could tell, And aye as louder grew the noise The faster went the bell. Louder and louder the choristers sung As they trembled more and more, And the priests as they pray'd to heaven for aid, They smote their breasts full sore. The cock he crew, the fiends they flew From the voice of the morning away; Then undisturb'd the choristers sing, And the fifty priests they pray; As they had sung and pray'd all night They pray'd and sung all day. The third night came, and the tapers' flame A hideous stench did make, And they burnt as though they had been dipt In the burning brimstone lake. And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean, Did shake the strong church door. The bellmen they, for very fear, The monk and nun forgot their beads, And the choristers' song which late was so strong, For the church did rock as an earthquake shock Uplifted its foundation. And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast, And the taper's light was extinguish'd quite, They call'd with trembling tongue. And in He came with eyes of flame, He laid his hand on the iron chains, And like flax they moulder'd asunder, And the coffin lid, which was barr'd so firm, He burst with his voice of thunder. And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise, And the cold sweat stood on the cold, cold corpse, She rose on her feet in her winding-sheet, And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave She follow'd the fiend to the church door, The fiend he flung her on the horse, And he leapt 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 1798. THE SURGEON'S WARNING. The subject of this parody was given me by a friend, to whom also I am indebted for some of the stanzas. Respecting the patent coffins herein mentioned, after the manner of Catholic Poets, who confess the actions they attribute to their Saints and Deity to be but fiction, I hereby declare that it is by no means my design to depreciate that useful invention; and all persons to whom this Ballad shall some, are requested to take notice, that nothing bere asserted concerning the aforesaid Coffins is true, except that the maker and patentee lives by St Martin's Lane. THE Doctor whisper'd to the Nurse, And the Surgeon knew what he said; And he grew pale at the Doctor's tale, And trembled in his sick-bed. «Now fetch me my brethren, and fetch them with speed,» The Surgeon affrighted said; «The Parson and the Undertaker, Let them hasten or I shall be dead.» The Parson and the Undertaker They hastily came complying, And the Surgeon's Prentices ran up stairs When they heard that their master was dying. The Prentices all they enter'd the room, By one, by two, by three, With a sly grin came Joseph in, First of the company. The Surgeon swore as they enter'd his door, He foam'd at the mouth with the rage he felt, And he wrinkled his black eye-brow, « That rascal Joe would be at me, I know, But zounds let him spare me now!» Then out they sent the Prentices, The fit it left him weak, He look'd at his brothers with ghastly eyes, And faintly struggled to speak. « All kinds of carcasses I have cut up, And the judgment now must be; But, brothers, I took care of you, «I have made candles of infants' fat, The Sextons have been my slaves, I have bottled babes unborn, and dried Hearts and livers from rifled graves. << And my Prentices now will surely come And carve me bone from bone, And I who have rifled the dead man's grave Shall never have rest in my own. Bury me in lead when I am dead, And see the coffin weigh'd I beg Lest the Plumber should be a cheat. «And let it be solder'd closely down, Strong as strong can be, I implore, And put it in a patent coffin, That I may rise no more. << If they carry me off in the patent coffin Their labour will be in vain, Let the Undertaker see it bought of the maker, Who lives by St Martin's Lane. «And bury me in my brother's church, And I implore, lock the church door, « And all night long let three stout men To each man give a gallon of beer, « Powder and ball and blunderbuss, And eke, five guineas if he shoot « And let them watch me for three weeks, For then I think that I may stink The Surgeon laid him down in his bed, Short came his breath and the struggle of death They put him in lead when he was dead, Lest the plumber should be a cheat. They had it solder'd closely down, And examined it o'er and o'er, And they put it in a patent coffin That he might rise no more. For to carry him off in a patent coffin, Would, they thought, be but labour in vain, So the Undertaker saw it bought of the maker, Who lives by St Martin's Lane. In his brother's church they buried him, That safer he might be, They lock'd the door, and would not trust The Sexton with the key. And three men in the vestry watch To save him if they can, And should he come there to shoot they swear A resurrection-man. And the first night by lanthorn light A guinea of gold the Sexton show'd But conscience was tough, it was not enough, And their honesty never swerved, And they bade him go with Mister Joe To the Devil as he deserved. So all night long by the vestry fire They quaff'd their gin and ale, The second night by lanthorn light The guineas were bright and attracted their sight And their fingers itch'd as they were bewitch'd, But they waver'd not long, for conscience was strong, And they thought they might get more, And they refused the gold, but not So rudely as before. So all night long by the vestry fire The third night as by lanthorn light Through the church-yard they went, He bade them see and show'd them three They look'd askance with greedy glance, And he look'd sly with his roguish eye, And gave a well-timed wink, And they could not stand the sound in his hand, And conscience, late that had such weight, For well they knew that it was true And they gave all their powder and ball, And they drank their beer and made good cheer, Then, though the key of the church-door And in they go with that villain Joe, And they moved them soon asunder; They burst the patent coffin first, And they cut through the lead; Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found The peasants from the shore would bring him food, And they laugh'd aloud when they saw the shroud, Imploring pardon for the natural sin Of that reluctance, till the atoning prayer |