He started up at the fearful dream,

And he heard at his window the screech owl scream! Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,—

Oh! glad was he when he saw the day light!

Now he goes forth in proud array,
For he with the Emperor dines to day;
There was not a Baron in Germany
That went with a nobler train than he.

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 blest 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 blest the meat,
When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat,-
With the Emperor now you are dining in glee,
But know, Bishop Bruno! you sup with me!

The Bishop then grew pale with affright,
And suddenly lost his appetite;

All the wine and dainty cheer

Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear.

But by little and little recovered he,
For the wine went flowing merrily,
And 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 entered the hall,
He was the merriest man of all.

Then from amid the masquers crowd
There went a voice hollow and loud,—

You have paft the day, Bishop Bruno, with glee!
But
you muft pass the night with me!

His cheek grows pale and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair;—
With that there came one from the masquers band,
And he 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.

R. S. Y.

The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves

Ordered by an intelligence so wise

As might confound the Atheists sophistries.

II.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen,

No grazing cattle thro' their prickly round
Can reach to wound,

But as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.

III.

I love to view these things with curious eyes

And moralize;

And in the wisdom of the Holly Tree

Can emblems see

Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme, Such as may profit in the after-time.

IV.

So, tho' abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere,

To those who on my leisure would intrude
Reserved and rude,

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd bé
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

V.

And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show,

All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away,

Till the smooth temper my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.