"Oh God! it made me quake to see

Such sense within the slain!

But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed 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 groaned; the dead
Had never groaned 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 vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed 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,
Nor join in evening hymn:
Like a devil of the pit I seemed

'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 fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:

For Sin had rendered 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 racked 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.

66

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 marked 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 murdered 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!

"Oh, 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 looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,

Through the cold and heavy mist;

And Eugene Aram walked between,

With gyves upon his wrist.

HOOD.

FRIENDSHIP.

MANY Sounds were sweet,

Most ravishing, and pleasing to the ear;

But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend

Sweet always, sweetest heard in loudest storm.
Some I remember, and will ne'er forget,

My early friends, friends of my chequered day;
Friends in my mirth, friends in my misery too;
Friends given by God in mercy and in love,
My counsellors, my comforters, and guides;
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy;
Companions of my young desires; in doubt
My oracles, my wings in high pursuit.
Oh! I remember, and will ne'er forget,
Our meeting-spots, our chosen sacred hours;
Our burning words, that uttered all the soul;
Our faces beaming with unearthly love;
Sorrow with sorrow sighing, hope with hope
Exulting, heart embracing heart entire.
As birds of social feather helping each
His fellow's flight, we soared into the skies,
And cast the clouds beneath our feet, and earth
With all her tardy, leaden-footed cares,

And talked the speech, and ate the food of heaven.

POLLOK.

THE GENIUS OF BYRON.

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced.
As some vast river of unfailing source,

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And oped new fountains in the human heart.
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose,
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home,
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great,