"Oh God! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain! But when I touched the lifeless clay, "My head was like an ardent coal, My wretched, wretched soul, I knew A dozen times I groaned; the dead "And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the Heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice-the awful voice Of the blood-avenging sprite : Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, "I took the dreary body up, "Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, "Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer, 'Mid holy Cherubim ? "And peace went with them, one and all, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody-red! "All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep : For Sin had rendered unto her “All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint That racked me all the time; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime! "One stern tyrannic thought, that made Did that temptation crave,— The dead man in his grave. 66 Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky, And sought the black accursed pool And I saw the dead in the river bed, "Merrily rose the lark, and shook For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. "With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran; There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began; In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man! "And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other-where; As soon as the mid-day task was done, And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, "Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep; For I knew my secret then was one Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. "So wills the fierce avenging sprite, Till blood for blood atones! Ay, though he's buried in a cave, "Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream The human life I take; And my red right hand grows raging hot, "And still no peace for the restless clay, The horrid thing pursues my soul,— That very night, while gentle sleep Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between, With gyves upon his wrist. HOOD. FRIENDSHIP. MANY Sounds were sweet, Most ravishing, and pleasing to the ear; But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend Sweet always, sweetest heard in loudest storm. My early friends, friends of my chequered day; And talked the speech, and ate the food of heaven. POLLOK. THE GENIUS OF BYRON. He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, |