The sight of the man was enough to interest any one. His head uncovered, his staff in his hand, his eye beaming with philanthropy, though evidently excited by his intended communication. He had, indeed, hurried into the hall, he had seen the vibrations of the waters, and knew that the walls of Wykes' Bishop's Palace could not stand long. He knew, likewise, that unless he could deliver himself in an authoritative and alarming manner, that many souls must perish. He had no desire they should, and therefore he assumed a sort of prophetical manner of address which the imminence of the danger alone warranted. His warning is given in such quaint, old poetry, and is yet so forcible, that to narrate it in a set speech would destroy its effect; and to give it in its old style would be tedious to the reader. He must pardon, therefore, its transposition into language more in accordance with modern phraseology, though, perhaps, not so genuinely characteristic of the hermit. St. Ivan's Warning. 'The time is come, proud Goldwell, hear? I speak to thee no more with fear! Though round thee shining lords attend And priests with burgesses may blend; And haughty in thy palace fair, Alice De Clinton has her share, And mocks to scorn whoe'er she will, And bids the hermit's voice be still. I bid her listen to my lay, I call her from this scene away; And tell both thee and her and all, They must obey the hermit's call. 'The time is come! the warning lake Already doth the palace shake. There stands by thee the haughty maid Whose pride and cruelty are said To govern thee and urge thee on To deeds no bishop yet hath done. The poor despise her though they bow In fear of frowns from such a brow. I, too, have felt within my cell Her hate can burn as demon's spell; For none who humbly live to love, To her can acceptable prove; And were not here a better found, These walls would tremble to the ground. But her I warn to haste away, Nor longer in this palace stay, Lest she and thee, and hers and thine, Be buried by St. Agnes' shrine. 'The time is come--the doom is spoken, Spells of life and charms are broken; And thou mayst live as yet thy day, But here thy bones thou shalt not lay! No more on thee, Wykes' Bishop's Hill, With verdure green find pleasant rill, Shall smile upon thy turrets' dome, Nor more to thee thy people come To meet thee in this place of peace; Its pleasant days must quickly cease; And men from yonder hill shall say, "How soon does grandeur pass away! There stood in state Wykes' Bishop's Hall, How sudden was its rise and fall."