The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke,
'Twas a terrible height, and the scaffolding broke;
The Devil could wish it no higher.

-"Help! help me! O Mary!" he cried in alarm,

As the scaffold sunk under his feet.

From the canvas the Virgin extended her arm,

She caught the good Painter, she saved him from harm, There were thousands who saw in the street.

The old Dragon fled when the wonder he 'spied,
And cursed his own fruitless endeavour;
While the Painter call'd after, his rage to deride,
Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and cried,
-" Now I'll paint thee more ugly than ever!"-

PART II.

The Painter so pious all praise had acquired,
For defying the malice of hell:

The Monks the unerring resemblance admired,
Not a lady lived near but her portrait desired
From one who succeeded so well.

One there was to be painted, the number among, Of features most fair to behold,

The country around of fair Marguerite rung; Marguerite she was lovely, and lively, and young, Her husband was ugly and old.

Oh! Painter, avoid her! Oh! Painter, take care! For Satan is watchful for you!

Take heed, lest fall in the wicked one's snare,

you

The net is made ready-Oh! Painter, beware

Of Satan and Marguerite too!

She seats herself now, now she lifts

up

her head,

On the Artist she fixes her eyes;

The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,
He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,
And the features of beauty arise.

He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue,
There's a look that he cannot express,

His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue,
More and more on the lady he fixes his view,
On the canvas he looks less and less.

In vain he retouches, her eye sparkles more,
And that look that fair Marguerite gave:

Many devils the Artist had painted of yore,
But he never attempted an Angel before,
St. Anthony help him, and save!

He yielded, alas! for the truth must be told,
To the woman, the tempter, and fate ;
It was settled, the Lady so fair to behold,
Should elope from her husband, so ugly and old,
With the Painter so pious of late.

Now Satan exults in his vengeance complete,

To the husband he makes the scheme known; Night comes, and the lovers impatiently meet, Together they fly, they are seized in the street, And in prison the Painter is thrown.

With Repentance, his only companion, he lies,
And a dismal companion is she.

On a sudden he saw the old Serpent arise;
-"You villainous dauber," old Beelzebub cries,

"You are paid for your insults to me.

"But my too tender heart it is easy to move,

"If to what I propose you agree.

"That picture-be fair! the resemblance improve,

"Make a handsomer picture-your chains I'll remove,

"And

you shall this instant be free."

Overjoy'd, the condition so easy he hears,

—“ I'll make you more handsome," he said. He sees that his chain on the Devil appears,

Released from his prison, released from his fears,
The Painter lies snug in his bed.

At morn he arises, composes his look,
And proceeds to his work as before:

The people beheld him, the culprit they took,
They thought that the Painter his prison had broke,
And to prison they led him once more.

They open

the dungeon-behold in his place,

In the corner, old Beelzebub lay:

He smirks, and he smiles, and he leers with a grace,

That the Painter might catch all the charms of his face, Then vanish'd in lightning away.

Quoth the Painter-" I trust you'll suspect me no more, "Since you find my denial was true;

"But I'll alter the picture above the church-door, "For I never saw Satan so closely before

"And I must give the Devil his due."

No. XXVIII.

DONICA.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

In Finland there is a Castle which is called the New Rock, moated about witle a river of unsounded depth, the water black, and the fish therein very distasteful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which foreshew either the death of the Governor, or some prime officer belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of an harper, sweetly singing, and dallying and playing under the water.

It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the Devil walked in her body for the space of two years, so that none suspected but she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was the only sign of death. At length a Magician coming by where she was then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, "fair Maids why keep you company with this dead virgin whom you suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion.

The following Ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found in the Notes to The Hierarchies of the blessed Angels; a poem by Thomas Heywood, printed in folio by Adam Islip, 1635.

HIGH on a rock, whose castled shade

Darken'd the lake below,

In ancient strength majestic stood

The towers of Arlinkow.