Have patience, man! the ruffian said,
A little we may wait,

But longer shall his wife expect
Her husband at the gate.

Then Jonathan grew sick at heart,
My conscience yet is clear,
Jaspar-it is not yet too late-
I will not linger here.

How now! cried Jaspar, why I thought Thy conscience was asleep.

No more such qualms, the night is dark, The river here is deep.

What matters that, said Jonathan,
Whose blood began to freeze,
When there is one above whose eye
The deeds of darkness sees ?

We are safe enough, said Jaspar then,
If that be all thy fear;

Nor eye below, nor eye above,
Can pierce the darkness here.

That instant as the murderer spake
There came a sudden light;
Strong as the mid-day sun it shone,
Though all around was night.

It hung upon the willow-tree,
It hung upon the flood,
It gave to view the poplar isle
And all the scene of blood.

The traveller who journies there,
He surely has espied

A madman who has made his home
Upon the river's side..

His cheek is pale, his eye is wild,
His look bespeaks despair;

For Jaspar since that hour has made
His home unshelter'd there.

And fearful are his dreams at night
And dread to him the day;
He thinks upon his untold crime
And never dares to pray.

The summer suns, the winter storms,
O'er him unheeded roll,

For heavy is the weight of blood
Upon the maniac's soul.

LORD WILLIAM.

No eye beheld when William plunged
Young Edmund in the stream,
No human ear but William's heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream.

Submissive all the vassals own'd
The murderer for their lord,
And he, the rightful heir, possessed
The house of Erlingford.

The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood in a fair domain,
And Severn's ample waters near
Roll'd through the fertile plain.

And often the way-faring man
Would love to linger there
Forgetful of his onward road
To gaze on scenes so fair.

But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;
In every wind that swept its waves
He heard young Edmund scream.

In vain at midnight's silent hour
Sleep closed the murderer's eyes;
In every dream the murderer saw
Young Edmund's form arise.

In vain by restless conscience driven
Lord William left his home,

Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,
In pilgrimage to roam.

To other climes the pilgrim fled,
But could not fly despair;

He sought his home again, but peace
Was still a stranger there.

Each hour was tedious long, yet swift
The months appear'd to roll;
And now the day returned that shook
With terror William's soul.

A day that William never felt
Return without dismay,

For well had conscience kalendered
Young Edmund's dying day.

A fearful day was that! The rains
Fell fast with tempest roar,
And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.

In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,

And strove with noisy mirth to drown The anguish of his soul.

The tempest as its sudden swell

In gusty howlings came,

With cold and death-like feelings seem'd To thrill his shuddering frame.

Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he prest,
And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,
To sleep, but not to rest,

Beside that couch his brother's form
Lord Edmund seem'd to stand,

Such and so pale as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand;

Such and so pale his face as when
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge
He left his orphan son.

"I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard-

Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge!
Now take thy due reward.”

He started up, each limb convuls'd
With agonizing fear,

He only heard the storm of night,—
"Twas music to his ear.

When, lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals:

"What ho! Lord William, rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls!

He rose in haste; beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear.

It hemm'd him round. "Twas midnight now,
No human aid was near.

He heard the shout of joy; for now
A boat approached the wall,
And eager to the welcome aid

They crowd for safety all.

"My boat is small," the boatman cried,
""Twill bear but one away:
Come in, Lord William, and do ye
In God's protection stay."

Strange feeling fill'd them at his vo.ce
Even in that hour of woe,

That, save their Lord, there was not one
Who wish'd with him to go.

But William leapt into the boat

His terror was so sore;

Thou shalt have half my gold, he cried,

Haste, haste to yonder shore.

The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream,
Sudden Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

The boatman paus'd, methought I heard
A child's distressful cry!

'Twas but the howling wind of night
Lord William made reply.

Haste, haste! ply swift and strong the oar!
Haste, haste across the stream!
Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

I heard a child's distressful scream
The boatman cried again.

Nay hasten on-the night is dark—
And we should search in vain.

Oh God! Lord William dost thou know
How dreadful 'tis to die?

And canst thou without

A child's expiring cry hear

How horrible it is to sink

Beneath the chilly stream,

To stretch the powerless arms in vain,
In vain for help to scream ?

The shriek again was heard: it came
More deep, more piercing loud;
That instant o'er the flood the moon
Shone through a broken cloud:

And near them they beheld a child,
Upon a crag he stood,

A little crag, and all around
Was spread the rising flood.

The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approach'd his resting place,

The moon-beam shone upon the child
And show'd how pale his face.