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Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talk'd with him of Cain;

And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves ;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;

And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod,
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God!
He told how murderers walk'd the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,-
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"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 wrongA 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 foot,
But lifeless flesh and bone!

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I fear'd him all the more,
For lying there so still:
There was a manhood in his look,

That murder could not kill!

"And, lo! the universal air

Seem'd lit with ghastly flame,-
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame :
I took the dead man by the hand,
And call'd upon his name!

"O God, it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!
But when I touch'd the lifeless clay,
The blood gush'd out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot,

Was scorching in my brain!
"My head was like an ardent coal,
My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price:
A dozen times I groan'd; the dead
Had never groan'd but twice!
"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!

"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 stared 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 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,
And years have rotted off his flesh-
The world shall see his bones!

"O God, 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 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 SYLVAN FAIRY.

THEN next a merry woodsman, clad in green,
Stept vanward from his mates, that idly stood
Each at his proper ease, as they had been
Nursed in the liberty of old Sherwood,
And wore the livery of Robin Hood,
Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup,-
So came this chief right frankly, and made good
His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up,
Doffing his cap, which was an acorn's cup :-
"We be small foresters and gay, who tend

On trees, and all their furniture of green,

Training the young boughs airily to bend,

And show blue snatches of the sky between:Or knit more close intricacies, to screen Birds' crafty dwellings as may hide them best,

But most the timid blackbird's-she, that seen, Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast. "We bend each tree in proper attitude,

And founting willows train in silvery falls; We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, And verdant aisles leading to Dryad's halls, Or deep recesses where the echo calls;— We shape all plumy trees against the sky,

And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals,When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply, Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh. "Sometimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell,

And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind, That haply some lone musing wight may spell Dainty Aminta,-Gentle Rosalind,—

Or chastest Laura,-sweetly call'd to mind In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down;

And sometimes we enrich gray stems, with twined And fragrant ivy,—or rich moss, whose brown Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down.

"And, lastly, for mirth's sake and Christmas cheer,
We bear the seedling berries, for increase,
To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year,
Careful that misletoe may never cease;―
Wherefore, if thou dost prize the shady peace
Of sombre forests, or to see light break

Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release
Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake,
Spare us our lives for the green Dryad's sake."

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All populous haunts, and roam'd in forests rude, To hide himself from man. But I had clothed My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pursued, Where only foxes and wild cats intrude,

Till we were come beside an ancient tree

Late blasted by a storm. Here he renew'd His loud complaints,-choosing that spot to be The scene of his last horrid tragedy.

It was a wild and melancholy glen,

Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, Push'd through the rotten sod for fear's remark;

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