THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION. My wine, clear and ruddy, seems turbid and bloody: I cannot quaff water; recalling his slaughter, 't is beaded with bubbles, Each filled with his breath, That in every glass hisses "Assassin ! 359 My curse shall affright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight thee, In life and in death!" When free from this error, I thrill with the terror (Thought horrid to dwell on!) That the wretch whom men cherish may shamefully perish; Be publicly gibbeted,* branded, exhibited, As a murderous felon ! O, punishment hellish! the house I embellish They follow infest me; they strive to arrest me, The country's amenity brings no serenity; There goes the offender! Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him, My flower-beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly, Hence, idle delusions! hence, fears and confusions! Throughout the wide county I'm famed for my bounty, They in this word has the sound of j. † A Greek divinity, worshiped as the goddess of vengeance, and regarded as the personification of the righteous anger of the gods. Let the dōtard and craven by fear be enslaven! You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating Ha! ha' I am fearless henceforward, and tearless; God help me!—hist! hearken! 'Tis the shriek, soul-appalling, he uttered when falling! Nerves a thousand times stronger could bear it no longer! Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and halter! I own my transgression — will make full confession! Quick! quick! Let me plunge in some dark-vaulted dungeon, HORACE SMITH. -THE SONG OF THE FORGE. CLANG, clang! the massive anvils ring; Clang, clang! Say, brothers of the dusky brow, What are your strong arms forging now? The colter of the kindly plow; Prosper it, Heaven, and bless our toil! The most benignant soil! Clang, clang! Our cōlter's course shall be By many a streamlet's silver tide, Amid the song of morning birds, THE SONG OF THE FORGE. When regal Autumn's bounteous hand We bless we bless the PLOW. Clang, clang! Again, my mates, what glows Clink, clank! We forge the giant chain, Calmly he rests, though far away Say on what sands these links shall sleep, By many an iceberg, lone and hoar, Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, Hold grappling ships, that strive the while For death or victory? Hurra! Cling, clang! 361 Once more, what glows, Dark brothers of the forge, beneath The iron tempest of your blows, The furnace's red breath? Clang, clang! A burning torrent, clear As our hammers forge the SWORD. While for his altar and his hearth,* LX. WHERE ARE THE DEAD? WHERE are the mighty ones of ages past, Where are the dead? Where are the mighty ones of Greece? Where be The conquering Macedonian, where is he? Where are the dead? Where are Rome's founders? Where her chiefest son, Where are the dead? Where's the bard-warrior-king of Albion's state, Where is Gaul's hero, who aspired to be A second Cæsar in his mastery, To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent the knee? Where are the dead? *The ea in this word properly has the sound of a in father, though by some, hearth is pronounced as if it rhymed with birth. WHERE ARE THE DEAD? Where is Columbia's son, her darling child, Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired, The classic dead? Where is the poet * who in death was crowned, The insulted dead? Greater than all, an earthly sun enshrined, The mighty dead? When their frail bodies died, did they all die, Why was it not confined to earthly sphere, All things in nature are proportionate : He who doth all things rule and regulate?--- 363 If here they perished, in their beings' germ,- The dead! the dead! There are no dead! The forms, indeed, did die, This is the dead! The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing, * Torquato Tasso. |