POEMS. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 'Twas in the prime of summer time, Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, To a level mead they came, and there Like sportive deer they coursed about, But the Usher sat remote from all, B His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees! Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er, For the peace of his soul he read that book At last he shut the ponderous tome, Then leaping on his feet upright, And past a shady nook,— And, lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! "My gentle lad, what is 't you readRomance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable?" The young boy gave an upward glance,-"It is The Death of Abel.'" 6 The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain,— And down he sat beside the lad, And, long since then, of bloody men, Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves; And how the sprites of injured men He told how murderers walk the earth For blood has left upon their souls "And well," quoth he, “I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, Woe, woe, unutterable woe,— 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, "Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, And, lo! the universal air Seem'd lit with ghastly flame;— Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame: I took the dead man by his hand, And call'd upon his name! Oh, God! it made me quake to see For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain! "My head was like an ardent coal, My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, A dozen times I groan'd; the dead "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, "Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanish'd in the pool; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, "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 seem'd, 'Mid holy Cherubim! |