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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 past the day, Bishop Bruno, with glee!
But you must 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 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

The BATTLE of BLENHEIM.

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done!
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy
Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh,

'Tis some poor fellow's scull, said he, Who fell in the great victory.

I find them in the garden, for
There's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out;
For many thousand men, said he,
Were slain in the great victory.

Now tell us what 'twas all about,
Young Peterkin he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes;

Now tell us all about the war,

And what they kill'd each other for.

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