"

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;

46

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 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 Sword Chaunt of Thorstein Raudi.

Hood.

'Tis not the grey hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere; "Tis not the fleet hound's course tracking the deer; 'Tis not the light hoof print of black steed or grey, Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day, Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine; Ha ha! 'tis the good brand

I clutch in my strong hand,

That can their broad marches and numbers define.
LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth,

Gaping, ask me what lordships I own'd at my birth;
But the pale fools wax mute when I point with my sword
East, west, north, and south, shouting, There am I lord!'
Wold and waste, town and tower, hill, valley, and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway,

In the fierce battle-fray,

When the star that rules Fate, is this falchion's red gleam.
MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding in brave bower and hall,
I've drank the sweet music that bright lips let fall,
I've hunted in greenwood, and heard small birds sing;
But away with this idle and cold jargoning!
The music I love, is the shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,

The scream of the flying,

When this arm wields Death's sickle, and garners the grave. JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.

"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,

66

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 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 Sword Chaunt of Thorstein Raudi.

Hood.

'Tis not the grey hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere; 'Tis not the fleet hound's course tracking the deer; 'Tis not the light hoof print of black steed or grey, Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day, Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine; Ha ha! 'tis the good brand

I clutch in my strong hand,

That can their broad marches and numbers define.
LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth,

Gaping, ask me what lordships I own'd at my birth;
But the pale fools wax mute when I point with my sword
East, west, north, and south, shouting, There am I lord!'
Wold and waste, town and tower, hill, valley, and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway,
In the fierce battle-fray,

When the star that rules Fate, is this falchion's red gleam.
MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding in brave bower and hall,
I've drank the sweet music that bright lips let fall,
I've hunted in greenwood, and heard small birds sing;
But away with this idle and cold jargoning!
The music I love, is the shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,

The scream of the flying,

When this arm wields Death's sickle, and garners

JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.

"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,

66

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 a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.