Before and behind his soldiers ride,
The people throng'd to see their pride;
They bow'd the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody bless'd him as he went.
So he went on stately and proud,
When he heard a voice that cried aloud-
"Ho! ho! Bishop Bruno, you travel with glee,
But I would have you know you travel to me !"
Behind and before, and on either side,
He look'd, but nobody he espied;
And the Bishop at that grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words distinct 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 see.
But soon the Bishop recover'd his glee,
For the Emperor welcomed him royally :
And now the tables were spread, and there
Were choicest wines and dainty fare.
And now the Bishop had bless'd the meat,
When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat :
"With the Emperor now you are dining with glee,
But know, Bishop Bruno, you sup with me!"
Illum præcedunt turmæ, turmæque sequuntur ; Spectatum ex omni currere turba via.
Flectere quisque genu, caput et demittere eunti, At pro se nullas audiit ille preces.
At subito ut fastu vadit tumefactus inani
Dat talis magnos vox inamona sonos;
"Heus, Bruni, læta comitum deducte caterva
Flectis iter sedem flectis adusque meam!"
Torsit ubique oculos-vestigia cernere nullo
Dicentis potuit quantulacunque loco.
Ergo sacerdotem gelidus circumstetit horror,
Inproba nam claros vox dedit illa sonos.
Pæne putat fatuus, pulsat dum magna palati
Ostia, funereis increpitura sonis ;
Janitor utque fores reserat, fore tristia mortis
Ipsius ora oculis conspicienda suis.
At mox in trepidam redeunt sua gaudia mentem,
Nam solito luxu regia tecta nitent :
Jamque refulgebant onerata pocula mensa,
Eximium vinum, nectareæque dapes.
Jamque preces dederat solitas, lætusque sedebat,
Talia quum magnos verba dedere sonos;
"Heus, Bruni, tibi nunc præsentia gaudia cœnæ
Regis; at hospitio mox potiere meo!"
The Bishop then grew pale with affright,
And suddenly lost his appetite;
Not all the wine, nor the dainty cheer,
Could comfort his heart that was sick with fear.
But by little and little recover'd he,
For the wine went flowing merrily;
Till at length he forgot his former dread,
And his cheeks again grew rosy red.
When he sat down to the royal fare
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there,
But when the masquers enter'd the hall,
He was the merriest man of all.
Then from amidst the masquers' crowd,
There went a voice hollow and loud:
"You have pass'd the day, Bishop Bruno, in glee, you must pass the night with me."
His cheeks grow pale, and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair;
With that there came one from the masquers' band,
And took the Bishop by the hand.
The bony hand suspended his breath,
His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death;
On saints in vain he attempted to call,
Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall !
Audit, et ingenti pallet terrore sacerdos ;
Percussi dapium pellitur ore sapor.
Nec mulcere potest vinum, neque copia cœnæ
Corda repentino sollicitata metu.
Dissipat at sensim genialis cœna timorem,
Cura fugit, largo diluiturque mero:
Horribilis tandem veniunt oblivia vocis ;
Rursus adest timidis purpura missa genis.
Inter cœnantes fuerat tristissimus ille,
Quum primum lautis discubuere toris :
En ! idem contra longe lætissimus, aulam
Mimorum festo jam subeunte choro.
Talia sed subito mimorum verba cohorte
In media, raucis intonuere sonis :
'Heus, Bruni, lætus carpsisti læta diei,
At tibi nox mecum nox peragenda venit !"
Palluit, et rapida micuerunt lumina flamma,
Perque caput raræ deriguere comæ.
Tum videt e mimis aliquem venisse sacerdos,
Sentitque horrificam se tetigisse manum.
Conprimit arentes mortis manus ossea fauces,
Intima percurrit frigidus ossa tremor.
Auxilium frustra conatur poscere Divos,
Ante oculos regis mortuus ille cadit !
THEY fix'd the mast, and hoisted up the sails,
Then they put fire to the wood; and Thor
Set his stout shoulder hard against the stern,
To push the ship through the thick sand: sparks
From the deep trench she plough'd-so strong a God
Furrow'd it—and the water gurgled in,
And the ship floated on the waves, and rock'd.
But in the hills a strong east-wind arose,
And came down roaring to the sea: first squalls
Ran black o'er the sea's face, then steady rush'd
The breeze, and fill'd the sails, and blew the fire;
And, wreath'd in smoke, the ship stood out to sea.
Soon with a roaring rose the mighty fire,
And the pile crackled; and between the logs
Sharp quivering tongues of flame shot out and leapt
Curling and darting higher, until they lick'd
The summit of the pile, the dead, the mast,
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