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 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)

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!

And all that day I read at 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,

And still the corse was bare!

D

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 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,
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 a 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 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!

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,

With gyves upon his wrist.

T. Hood.

THE DEATH OF MARMION.

With fruitless labour Clara bound,

And strove to stanch the gushing wound;

The monk, with unavailing cares,
Exhausted all the church's prayers.

Ever he said, that, close and near

A lady's voice was in his ear,

And that the priest he could not hear,

For that she ever sung

"In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying,”—

So the notes rung.

"Avoid thee, fiend!—with cruel hand

Shake not the dying sinner's sand!

Oh look, my son, upon yon sign

Of the Redeemer's grace divine;
Oh, think on faith and bliss:
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,
But never aught like this!"

The war, that for a space did fail,

Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale,

And-Stanley! was the cry.

A light on Marmion's visage spread,

And fired his glazing eye;

With dying hand above his head

He shook the fragment of his blade,

And shouted "Victory."

86 Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"

Were the last words of Marmion.

Sir W. Scott.

THE WIFE.

Long years ago I met a child,

As through the world I pass'd;

She was the first star of my life

The dearest, and the best.

An angel child, by some strange fate

To earth a dweller driven,

Who brought her virtues to my heart,
But left her wings in heaven!

I dream'd not that this child of love

Would mine for ever be;

That she had come to thread this world

This weary world—with me.

But as in kindness, side by side,

We wandered day by day,

The more I loved her, still the more

She seemed inclined to stay.

'Twas strange, that from that very hour

I never knew a care

But it seem'd, through some unearthly power,

A pleasant thing to bear;

And if perchance her gentle eye

E'er mark'd a tear in mine,

'Twas turned to smiles by her kind heart,

And treasured in its shrine.

Around my growing destiny

Her hopes all centred were,

For much I tried to make this world

A pleasant home to her;

And still within she seem'd content

To bear its rougher part,

Together with the joys she found
Whilst nestling at my heart.

And thus together, hand in hand,

We trod this vale of tears;

Our youth departing, but our love
Increasing with our years:

Forgetting all the outward world,
Made up of grief and sin,

But loving more the world above,
And a bright world within.

The cheek that closely presses mine

Is furrow'd now by care,

For we have known the cares of life,

And we have wept its tears. But God was ever kind to us,

Although the world was cold;

And we are growing happier

As we are growing old.

There seems a brighter world in view, A home from sorrow free,

A dwelling of eternal years,

For my dear wife and me.
And oh! the angel of my youth,
So good and very fair,

I know will take her wings again,

And be my angel there.