Puslapio vaizdai
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"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth,
Their pangs must be extreme,—
Wo, wo, unutterable wo,

Who spill life's sacred stream !

For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream !

"One that had never done me wrong,

A feeble man and old:

I led him to a lonely field;

The moon shone clear and cold:
'Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!'

"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife,—
And then the deed was done :
There was nothing lying at my feet
But lifeless flesh and bone.

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"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!

"Alas! 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!

"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 other where;
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!

"Oh boy! 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 look'd up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin's eyelids kiss'd,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walk'd between,
With gvves upon his wrist.

HOOD.

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[From THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL]

[INE-and-twenty knights of fame

NINE

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall;
Nine-and-twenty squires of name

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall;
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall

Waited, duteous, on them all:
They were all knights of mettle true,
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.

Ten of them were sheathed in steel,
With belted sword, and spur on heel:
They quitted not their harness bright,
Neither by day, nor yet by night:
They lay down to rest
With corslet laced,

Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard;

They carved at the meal

With gloves of steel,

And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men,
Waited the beck of the warders ten;
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,
Stood saddled in stable day and night,
Barb'd with frontlet of steel, I trow,
And with Jedwood-axe at saddle bow;
A hundred more fed free in stall:-
Such was the custom of Branksome Hall.

Why do these steeds stand ready dight?
Why watch these warriors arm,d by night?
They watch to hear the blood-hound baying;
They watch to hear the war-horn braying;
To see St. George's red-cross streaming;
To see the midnight beacon gleaming;
They watch against southern force and guile,

Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers,

From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

WE

73. THE ALDERMAN'S FUNERAL.

Stranger.

HOM are they ushering from the world, with all This pageantry and long parade of death? Townsman. A long parade, indeed, sir, and yet here You see but half; round yonder bend it reaches A furlong farther, carriage behind carriage. S. 'Tis but a mournful sight, and yet the Tempts me to stand a gazer.

pomp

T. Yonder school-boy, Who plays the truant, says the proclamation Of peace was nothing to the show, and even The chairing of the members at election Would not have been a finer sight than this; Only that red and green are prettier colours Than all this mourning.-There, sir, you behold One of the red-gown'd worthies of the city, The envy and the boast of our exchange;

I

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