"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
And hide it from my sight!'

"I took the dreary body up,
And cast it in a stream,—
A sluggish water black as ink,
The depth was so extreme :-
My gentle Boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"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.

"Oh, 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 stared aghast at Sleep:

For Sin has 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 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.

"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
nd years have rotted off his flesh
The world shall see his bones!

"Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my right red 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 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.

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571) (JEAN INGELOW.)

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers rang by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 'Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells,

Men say it was a stolen tyde

The Lord that sent it, He knows all;
But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall:
And there was nought of strange, beside
The flight of mews and peewits pied

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.

I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes;
The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies,
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song-

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
"For the dews will soone be falling;
Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,

Jetty, to the milking shed."

If it be long, ay, long ago,

When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee.
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene,
Save where full fyve good miles away
The steeple towered from out the greene;
And lo! the great bell farre and wide
Was heard in all the country side
That Saturday at eventide.

The swanherds where there sedges are
Moved on in sunset's golden breath,
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;
Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Came downe that kindly message free,
The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows,

They sayde, " And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea?

They ring the tune of Enderby!