Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame;

I took the dead man by his 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!

66

'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 childhood's 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 school 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 otherwhere ;
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,

On 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 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.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

1809

THE SISTERS.

We were two daughters of one race,

She was the fairest in the face,—

The wind is blowing in turret and tree :

They were together, and she fell;
Therefore revenge became me well :
O the Earl was fair to see!

She died, she went to burning flame,—
She mix'd her ancient blood with shame ;—
The wind is howling in turret and tree :
Whole weeks, and months, and early and late,
To win his love I lay in wait :

O the Earl was fair to see!

I made a feast, I bade him come,-
I won his love, I brought him home,—

The wind is roaring in turret and tree :
And after supper, on a bed,

Upon my lap he laid his head :

O the Earl was fair to see!

I kiss'd his eyelids into rest,
His ruddy cheek upon my breast,—

The wind is raging in turret and tree :
I hated him with the hate of Hell,
But I loved his beauty passing well :
O the Earl was fair to see!

I rose up in the silent night,

I made my dagger sharp and bright,—

The wind is raving in turret and tree :

As half-asleep his breath he drew,

Three times I stabb'd him, through and through:
O the Earl was fair to see!

I curl'd and comb'd his comely head,-
He look'd so grand when he was dead,—

The wind is blowing in turret and tree :

I wrapp'd his body in the sheet,

And laid him at his mother's feet:

O the Earl was fair to see!

ROBERT BROWNING.

1812

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX.

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he,

I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; 66 Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast.