Then, leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took,—

Now up the mead, now down the mead

And past a shady nook,

And, lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book!

you

"My gentle lad, what is't Romance, or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

read

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance, —

"It is The Death of Abel.'"

The Usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,—
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.

He told how murderers walk 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 wrong,

A 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 feet
But lifeless flesh and bone.

"I took the ghastly body up,
And cast it in a stream,
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme.
My little 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!

"Alas! 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!

"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!

"Oh boy! 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's 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.

HOOD.

[From THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.]

TINE-and-twenty knights of fame

NINE

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall;
Nine-and-twenty squires of name

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall;
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall

Waited, duteous, on them all:

They were all knights of mettle true,
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.

Ten of them were sheathed in steel,
With belted sword, and spur on heel:
They quitted not their harness bright,
Neither by day, nor yet by night:
They lay down to rest
With corslet laced,

Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard;

They carved at the meal

With gloves of steel,

And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men,
Waited the beck of the warders ten;
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,
Stood saddled in stable day and night,
Barb'd with frontlet of steel, I trow,
And with Jedwood-axe at saddle bow;
A hundred more fed free in stall:-
Such was the custom of Branksome Hall.