Then from amid the maskers' crowd

There went a voice hollow and loud;

-"You have pass'd the day, Bishop Bruno, with glee, the night with me!"

"But you must pass

His cheek grows pale, and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure rises his hair:

With that there came one from the maskers' band,
And he took the Bishop by the hand.

The bony hand suspended his breath,

His marrow grew
On saints in vain he attempted to call-
Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall.

cold at the touch of Death;

No. XXVI.

LORD WILLIAM.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

No

eye beheld when William plunged Young Edmund in the stream;

No human ear but William's heard

Young Edmund's drowning scream.

Submissive all the vassals own'd
The murderer for their Lord,
And he, the rightful heir, possess'd
The house of Erlingford.

The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood midst 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 so fair.

But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;

wind that swept its waves

In every

In vain at midnight's silent hour
Sleep closed the murderer's eyes;

dream the murderer saw

Young Edmund's form arise.

In vain, by restless conscience driven,
Lord William left his home,

Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,

In pilgrimage to roam.

To other climes the pilgrim fled,

But could not fly despair;

He sought his home again, but peace

Was still 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 soul.

A day that William never felt
Return without dismay,

For well had conscience kalender'd

Young Edmund's dying day.

A fearful day was that! the rains
Fell fast, with tempest roar,

And the swoln tide of Severn spread

Far on the level shore.

In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,

And strove with noisy mirth to drown
The anguish of his soul.

The tempest as its sudden swell

In gusty howlings came,

With cold and death-like feelings seem'd

To thrill his shuddering frame.

Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he press'd;
And, wearied out, he sunk to sleep,
To sleep, but not to rest.

Beside that couch his brother's form,
Lord Edmund, seem'd to stand,
Such and so pale as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand:

Such and so pale his face as when,
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.

"I bade thee, with a father's love,

My orphan Edmund guard;

"Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge!

"Now take thy due reward."

He started up, each limb convulsed
With agonizing fear;

He only heard the storm of night

'Twas music to his ear.