He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,

With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain.

"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,
And one with a heavy stone,

One hurried gash with a hasty knife,-
And then the deed was done;
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone!

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill;

And yet I feared him all the more,

For lying there so still:

There was a manhood in his look,

That murder could not kill.

"And, lo! the universal air

Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame:

I took the dead man by his hand

And called upon his name!

"Oh, God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!

But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!

"My head was like an ardent coal,
My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price;

A dozen times I groaned: the dead
Had never groaned but twice!

"And now, from forth the frowning sky
From the Heaven's topmost height,

I heard a voice-that 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,
And cast it in a stream,
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme:—
My gentle Boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge

And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school.

"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 seemed,

'Mid holy Cherubim!

"And peace went with them, one and all, And each calm pillow spread:

But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain
That lighted me to bed,

And drew my midnight curtains round,

With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep,
My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:

For Sin had rendered unto her

The keys of hell to keep.

"All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That racked me all the time; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime;

"One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave: Stronger and stronger every pulse

Did that temptation crave,

Still urging me to go and see
The Dead Man in his grave!

"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 marked 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 murdered man.

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was otherwhere;

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 it should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.

"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Aye, 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 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 mold allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,—

It stands before me now!"

The fearful Boy looked up, and saw

Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,

With gyves upon his wrist.

Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL

I

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,

And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby gray;

A cricket cap was on his head,

And his step seemed light and gay; But I never saw a man who looked So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue

Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,

Within another ring,

And was wondering if the man had done

A great or little thing,

When a voice behind me whispered low,

"That fellow's got to swing."