When that I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind! No wonder that I sometimes sign, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind! THE lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and broken still; For turning often and oft 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, Who wrought in that dreary room, With figures drooping and spectres thin, And cheeks without a bloom; And the Voice that cried, 'For the pomp of pride, We haste to an early tomb! "For the pomp and pleasure of Pride, We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last, "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 there, 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, But I never remember'd the wretched ones That starve for want of food! "I dress'd as the noble dress, In cloth of silver and gold, With silk, and satin, and costly furs, 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 carnal, |