a confused network of narrow streets and alleys, much
resembling, I should think, its early inconveniences, in
the days of Olaf Kyrre. This close and stifling system
of street building must have ensured fatal odds against
the chances of life in some of those world-devastating
plagues that characterised past ages. Bergen was, in
fact, nearly depopulated by that terrible pestilence
which, in 1349, ravaged the North of Europe, and whose
memory is still preserved under the name of "The Black
Death."

I have been tempted to enclose you a sort of ballad,
which was composed while looking on the very scene of
this disastrous event; its only merit consists in its
local inspiration, and in its conveying a true relation
of the manner in which the plague entered the doomed
city.

THE BLACK DEATH OF BERGEN.

I.

What can ail the Bergen Burghers
That they leave their stoups of wine?
Flinging up the hill like jagers,
At the hour they're wont to dine!
See, the shifting groups are fringing
Rock and ridge with gay attire,
Bright as Northern streamers tinging
Peak and crag with fitful fire!