And hark' the angry winds arise, Howling around his palace towers Long over Biscay's boisterous surge A BALLAD, SHEWING HOW AN OLD WOMAN RODE DOUBLE, AND WHO RODE BEFORE HER. FROM A STORY RELATED BY OLAUS MAGNUS. THE raven croak'd as she sat at her meal, Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed, The monk my son, and my daughter the nun, The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, And they have brought with pious thought The old woman shriek'd as they entered her dɔor. Now take the sacrament away For mercy, my children dear! Her lip it trembled with agony, The sweat ran down her brow, I have tortures in store for evermore, Away they sent the sacrament, She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes All kind of sin I have rioted in, I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes, I have nointed myself with infant's fat, And the Devil will fetch me now in fire My witchcrafts to atone, And I who have rifled the dead man's grave Shall never have rest in my own. Bless I intreat my winding sheet, My children I beg of you! And with holy water sprinkle my shroud, And sprinkle my coffin too. And let me be chain'd in my coffin of stone, With iron bars, and with three chains And bless the chains and sprinkle them, And see that fifty choristers Beside the bier attend me, And day and night by the taper's light Let the church bells all both great and small To drive from thence the fiends who come And ever have the church door barr'd After the even song, And I beseech you, children dear, Let the bars and bolts be strong. And let this be three days and nights Keep me so long from the fiendish throng The old woman of Berkeley laid her down, Short came her breath and the struggle of death They blessed the old woman's winding sheet With holy water they sprinkled her shroud And they chain'd her in her coffin of stone, And in the church with three strong chains And they blest the chains and sprinkled them, And fifty sacred choristers Beside the bier attend her, Who day and night by the taper's light To see the priests and choristers it was a goodly sight Each holding, as it were a staff, And the church bells all, both great and small, And they have barr'd the church door hard, And the first night the tapers' light Burnt steadily and clear, But they without a hideous rout Of angry fiends could hear; A hideous roar at the church door, Like a long thunder peal, And the priests they pray'd and the choristers sung Louder in fearful zeal. Loud toll'd the bell, the priests pray'd well, The monk her son, and her daughter the nun, The cock he crew, away they flew, The second night the tapers' light And every one saw his neighbour's face And yells and cries without arise That the stoutest heart might shock, And a deafening roar like a cataract pouring The monk and nun they told their beads, As fast as they could tell, And aye as louder grew the noise The faster went the bell. Louder and louder the choristers sung And the fifty priests pray'd to Heaven for aid,— T The cock he crew, away they flew The third night came, and the tapers' flame And they burnt as though they had been dipt And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean, And strokes as of a battering ram The bellmen they for very fear The monk and nun forgot their beads, And the choristers' song, that late was so strong, For the church did rock, as an earthquake shock Uplifted its foundation. And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast The strong church door could bear no more, And the tapers' light was extinguish'd quite, And the priests dismay'd, panted and pray'd And in he came with eyes of flame The devil to fetch the dead, And all the church with his presence glow'd |