"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
And vanish'd in the pool;
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,
And wash'd my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young That evening in the school!
'O heaven, to think of their white souls,
And mine so black and grim!
I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn:
Like a devil of the pit I seem'd,
'Mid holy cherubim !
'And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread ;
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain
That lighted me to bed,
And drew my midnight curtains round,
With fingers bloody red!
'All night I lay in agony,
In anguish dark and deep;
My fever'd eyes I dared not close,
But star'd aghast at Sleep;
For sin had render'd unto her
The keys of hell to keep!
́All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,
That rack'd me all the time---
A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime !
'One stern tyrannic thought that made
All other thoughts its slave ;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave—
Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave!
'Heavily I rose up—as soon
As light was in the sky—
And sought the black accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye ;
And I saw the dead, in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!
Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;
But I never mark'd its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:
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 murder'd man!
'And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was otherwhere !
As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there :
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!
'Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep;
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep;
Or land, or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep!
'So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Aye, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh-
The world shall see his bones!
'Oh me! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake!
Again, again, with a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;
And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake.
'And still no peace for the restless clay
Will wave or mould allow ;
The horrid thing pursues my soul-
It stands before me now!'
The fearful boy looked up and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!
That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kiss'd,
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walk'd between,
With gyves upon his wrist. T. Hood
THE BELEAGUERED CITY
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And with a sorrowful deep sound,
The river flow'd between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners.clasp'd the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaim'd the morning prayer,
The wild pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far,
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer.
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust
Of what the good, and e'en the bad might say,
Ordain'd that no man living from that day
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.
All Araby and Persia held their breath.
All but the brave Mondeer.-He, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief,
(For his great heart wanted a great relief,)
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily in the square
Where once had stood a happy house, and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.
'Bring me this man,' the caliph cried : the man
Was brought, was gazed upon.
The mutes began
To bind his arms. 'Welcome, brave cords,' cried
'From bonds far worse Jaffar deliver'd me;
From wants, from shames, from loveless household
Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;
Restor'd me, loved me, put me on a par
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?'
Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.
He said, 'Let worth grow frenzied if it will ;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still.
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit.'
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