"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, 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: "Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, "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, "Alas! to think of their white souls, 'Mid holy cherubim. And peace went with them, one and all, But guilt was my grim chamberlain, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red! "Heavily I rose up, as soon And sought the black accursed pool "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 murder'd man! "And all that day I read in school, And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, “Then down I cast me on my face, For I knew my secret then was one "Oh boy! that horrid, horrid dream And my red right hand grows raging hot, "And still no peace for the restless clay The horrid thing pursues my soul, It stands before me now!" That very night, while gentle sleep Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, HOOD. [From THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL] [INE-and-twenty knights of fame NINE Hung their shields in Branksome Hall; Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; Waited, duteous, on them all: Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 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, Why do these steeds stand ready dight? Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers 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 |