THE lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and broken still: From side to side, she mutter'd and moan'd, At last she startled up, And gazed on the vacant air, With a look of awe, as if she saw Some dreadful phantom there And then in the pillow she buried her face The very curtain shook, Her terror was so extreme; And the light that fell on the broider'd quilt Kept a tremulous gleam; And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried : "Oh me! that awful dream! "That weary, weary walk, In the churchyard's dismal ground! And those horrible things, with shady wings, Death, death, and nothing but death, "And oh! those maidens young, With figures drooping and spectres thin, And the Voice that cried, 'For the pomp of pride "For the pomp and pleasure of Pride, We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last, And then they pointed-I never saw "And still the coffins came, With their sorrowful trains and slow; Coffin after coffin still, A sad and sickening show; From grief exempt, I never had dreamt "Of the hearts that daily break, That grieve this earthly ball Disease and Hunger, and Pain, and Want, "For the blind and the cripple were there, The naked, alas, that I might have clad, "The sorrow I might have sooth'd, For many a thronging shape was ther Ay, even the poor rejected Moor, "Each pleading look, that long ago Woe, woe for me if the past should be "No need of sulphurous lake, No need of fiery coal, But only that crowd of human kind Who wanted pity and dole In everlasting retrospect― Will wring my sinful soul! "Alas! I have walk'd through life Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm. Forgetting that even the sparrow falls "I drank the richest draughts; And ate whatever is good Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, Supplied my hungry mood; But I never remember'd the wretched ones 'That starve for want of food ! "I dress'd as the noble dress, But I never remembered the naked limb "The wounds I might have heal'd! The human sorrow and smart! But evil is wrought by want of Thought, She clasp'd her fervent hands, And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame DEATH'S RAMBLE. ONE day the dreary old King of Death Inclined for some sport with the carna!, So he tied a pack of darts on his back, His head was bald of flesh and of hair, His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur And what did he do with his deadly darts, He dabbled and spill'd man's blood, and he kill'd The first he slaughter'd it made him laugh (For the man was a coffin-maker) To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, Would mourn for an undertaker, Death saw two Quakers sitting at church: And he let them alone, like figures of stone. For he could not make them stiffer. He saw two duellists going to fight, In fear they could not smother; And he shot one through at once-for he knew They never would shoot each other. He saw a watchman fast in his box, And he gave a snore infernal; Said Death, "He may keep his breath, for his sleep Can never be more eternal." |