’T WAS in the prime of summer time, | |
| An evening calm and cool, | |
| And four-and-twenty happy boys | |
| Came bounding out of school: | |
| There were some that ran and some that leap’d, | 5 |
| Like troutlets in a pool. | |
| |
| Away they sped with gamesome minds, | |
| And souls untouch’d by sin; | |
| To a level mead they came, and there | |
| They drave the wickets in: | 10 |
| Pleasantly shone the setting sun | |
| Over the town of Lynn. | |
| |
| Like sportive deer they cours’d about, | |
| And shouted as they ran, | |
| Turning to mirth all things or earth, | 15 |
| As only boyhood can; | |
| But the Usher sat remote from all, | |
| A melancholy man! | |
| |
| His hat was off, his vest apart, | |
| To catch heaven’s blessed breeze; | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Nor ever glanced aside, | |
| For the peace of his soul he read that book | |
| In the golden eventide: | |
| Much study had made him very lean, | |
| And pale, and leaden-eyed. | 30 |
| |
| At last he shut the ponderous tome, | |
| With a fast and fervent grasp | |
| He strain’d the dusky covers close, | |
| And fix’d the brazen hasp: | |
| “Oh, God! could I so close my mind, | 35 |
| And clasp it with a clasp!” | |
| |
| Then leaping on his feet upright, | |
| Some moody turns he took,— | |
| Now up the mead, then down the mead, | |
| And past a shady nook,— | 40 |
| And, lo! he saw a little boy | |
| That por’d upon a book. | |
| |
| “My gentle lad, what is ’t you read— | |
| Romance or fairy fable? | |
| Or is it some historic page, | 45 |
| Of kings and crowns unstable?” | |
| The young boy gave an upward glance,— | |
| “It is ‘The Death of Abel.’” | |
| |
| The Usher took six hasty strides, | |
| As smit with sudden pain, | 50 |
| Six hasty strides beyond the place, | |
| Then slowly back again; | |
| And down he sat beside the lad, | |
| And talk’d with him of Cain; | |
| |
| And, long since then, of bloody men, | 55 |
| Whose deeds tradition saves; | |
| Of lonely folk cut off unseen, | |
| And hid in sudden graves; | |
| Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, | |
| And murders done in caves; | 60 |
| |
| And how the sprites of injur’d men | |
| Shriek upward from the sod; | |
| Aye, how the ghostly hand will point | |
| To show the burial clod; | |
| And unknown facts of guilty acts | 65 |
| Are seen in dreams from God! | |
| |
| He told how murderers walk the earth | |
| Beneath the curse of Cain, | |
| With crimson clouds before their eyes, | |
| And flames about their brain: | 70 |
| 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,— | 75 |
| 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: | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| 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! | 90 |
| |
| “Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, | |
| That could not do me ill; | |
| And yet I fear’d him all the more, | |
| For lying there so still: | |
| There was a manhood in his look, | 95 |
| That murder could not kill. | |
| |
| “And, lo! the universal air | |
| Seem’d lit with ghastly flame; | |
| Ten thousand dreadful eyes | |
| Were looking down in blame: | 100 |
| I took the dead man by his hand, | |
| And call’d upon his name! | |
| |
| “Oh, God! it made me quake to see | |
| Such sense within the slain! | |
| But when I touch’d the lifeless clay, | 105 |
| The blood gush’d out amain! | |
| For ever clot, a burning spot | |
| Was scorching in my brain! | |
| |
| “My head was like an ardent coal, | |
| My heart as solid ice; | 110 |
| My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, | |
| Was at the Devil’s price; | |
| A dozen times I groan’d: the dead | |
| Had never groan’d but twice. | |
| |
| “And now, from forth the frowning sky, | 115 |
| 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!’ | 120 |
| |
| “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 | 125 |
| Is nothing but a dream! | |
| |
| “Down went the corse with hollow plunge | |
| And vanish’d in the pool; | |
| Anon I cleans’d my bloody hands, | |
| And wash’d my forehead cool, | 130 |
| 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 | 135 |
| Nor join in Evening Hymn: | |
| Like a Devil of the Pit I seem’d, | |
| ’Mid holy Cherubim! | |
| |
| “And peace went with them, one and all, | |
| And each calm pillow spread; | 140 |
| 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, | 145 |
| In anguish dark and deep, | |
| My fever’d eyes I dar’d not close, | |
| But star’d aghast at Sleep: | |
| For Sin had render’d unto her | |
| The keys of hell to keep. | 150 |
| |
| “All night I lay in agony, | |
| From weary chime to chime, | |
| With one besetting horrid hint, | |
| That rack’d me all the time; | |
| A mighty yearning like the first | 155 |
| Fierce impulse unto crime; | |
| |
| “One stern tyrannic thought, that made | |
| All other thoughts its slave: | |
| Stronger and stronger every pulse | |
| Did that temptation crave, | 160 |
| 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 | 165 |
| 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; | 170 |
| But I never mark’d 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, | 175 |
| 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 murder’d man. | 180 |
| |
| “And all that day I read in school, | |
| But my thought was other where; | |
| As soon as the mid-day task was done, | |
| In secret I was there; | |
| And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, | 185 |
| 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 refus’d to keep: | 190 |
| Or land or sea, though he 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, | 195 |
| 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! | 200 |
| 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 | 205 |
| Will have or mould allow; | |
| The horrid thing pursues my soul,— | |
| It stands before me now!” | |
| The fearful Boy look’d up, and saw | |
| Huge drops upon his brow. | 210 |
| |
| That very night, while gentle sleep | |
| The urchin eyelids kiss’d, | |
| Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, | |
| Through the cold and heavy mist; | |
| And Eugene Aram walk’d between, | 215 |
| With gyves upon his wrist. | |
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