"And now, from forth the frowning sky, "I took the dreary body up, "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, Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, "And peace went with them, one and all, But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain 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, For Sin has render'd unto her The keys of Hell to keep! "All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, "One stern tyrannic thought, that made Heavily I rose up, as soon 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 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, And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, "Then down I cast me on my face For I knew my secret then was one Or land or sea, though he should be "So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, "Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream And my right red hand grows raging hot, "And still no peace for the restless clay, Will wave or mould allow ; The horrid thing pursues my soul,- That very night, while gentle sleep Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, And Eugene Aram walk'd between, THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571) (JEAN INGELOW.) The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 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; The message that the bells let fall: By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; Lay sinking in the barren skies, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, From the meads where melick groweth "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Jetty, to the milking shed." If it be long, ay, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, The swanherds where there sedges are Then some looked uppe into the sky, 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! |