"Blessed Mary protect me!" the Archbishop cried; "What madness is come to the King!"

In vain to escape from the Monarch he tried,
When luckily he on his finger espied

The glitter of Agatha's ring.

Overjoy'd, the old Prelate remembered the spell,
And far in the lake flung the ring;

The waters closed round it, and, wond'rous to tell,
Releas'd from the cursed enchantment of hell,
His reason returned to the King.

But he built him a palace there close by the bay,
And there did he 'stablish his reign;

And the traveller who will, may behold at this day
A monument still in the ruins of Aix

Of the spell that possess'd Charlemain.

St. ROMUALD.

The Virtues of this Saint, as mentioned in the poem, may be . found particularized in his life. The honour intended him by the Spaniards, is mentioned by Andrews, History of England, Vol. 1.

One day, it matters not to know
How many hundred years ago,
A Spaniard stopt at a posada door :

The Landlord came to welcome him, and chat
Of this and that,

For he had seen the Traveller there before.

Does holy Romuald dwell

Still in his cell?

The Traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead?
He has left his loving flock, and we

So good a Christian never more shall see,
The Landlord answer'd, and he shook his head.

Ah Sir! we knew his worth.

If ever there did live a Saint on earth!

Why Sir he always used to wear a shirt For thirty days, all seasons, day and night: Good man, he knew it was not right

For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt; And then he only hung it out in the rain, And put it on again.

There used to be rare work

With him and the Devil there in yonder cell; For Satan used to maul him like a Turk. There they would sometimes fight All through a winter's night,

From sun-set until morn,

He with a cross, the Devil with his horn;
The Devil spitting fire with might and main
Enough to make St. Michael half afraid;
He splashing holy water till he made
His red hide hiss again,

And the hot vapour fill'd the little cell.

This was so common that his face became

All black and yellow with the brimstone flame, And then he smelt, . . Oh Lord! how he did smell!

Then Sir! to see how he would mortify
The flesh if any one had dainty fare,

Good man he would come there,

And look at all the delicate things, and cry,
O Belly, Belly!

You would be gormandizing now I know.
But it shall not be so; ..

Home to your bread and water.. home I tell ye!

But, quoth the Traveller, wherefore did he leave
A flock that knew his saintly worth so well?
Why, said the Landlord, Sir, it so befell
He heard unluckily of our intent

To do him a great honour; and you know
He was not covetous of fame below,
And so by stealth one night away he went.

What might this honour be? the traveller cried;
Why Sir, the host replied,

We thought perhaps that he might one day leave us;
And then should strangers have

The good man's grave,

A loss like that would naturally grieve us,

For he'll be made a Saint of to be sure.

Therefore we thought it prudent to secure His relics while we might;

And so we meant to strangle him one night.

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