ل "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; And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, "Then down I cast me on my face, For I knew my secret then was one "So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, "Oh, God! that hórrid, horrid dream The human life I take; And my red right hand grows raging hot, "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. The Ballad of Reading Gaol 2687 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, 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 He walked amongst the Trial Men 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." Dear Christ! the very prison walls I only knew what hunted thought The man had killed the thing he loved, And so he had to die. Yet each man kills the thing he loves, Some with a flattering word, Some kill their love when they are young, Some strangle with the hands of Lust, The kindest use a knife, because Some love too little, some too long, For each man kills the thing he loves, He does not die a death of shame Nor a cloth upon his face, Nor drop feet foremost through the floor Into an empty space. The Ballad of Reading Gaol He does not sit with silent men 2689 Who watch him night and day; Who watch him when he tries to weep, And when he tries to pray; Who watch him lest himself should rob He does not wake at dawn to sce He does not rise in piteous haste To put on convict-clothes, While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes Are like horrible hammer-blows. He does not know that sickening thirst The hangman with his gardener's gloves And binds one with three leathern thongs, He does not bend his head to hear The Burial Office read, Nor, while the terror of his soul Tells him he is not dead, Cross his own coffin, as he moves Into the hideous shed. He does not stare upon the air Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek II Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard, In the suit of shabby gray: His cricket cap was on his head, And his step seemed light and gay, But I never saw a man who looked I never saw a man who looked Which prisoners call the sky, And at every wandering cloud that trailed He did not wring his hands, as do He did not wring his hands nor weep, But he drank the air as though it held With open mouth he drank the sun And I and all the souls in pain, And watched with gaze of dull amaze And strange it was to see him pass With a step so light and gay, And strange it was to see him look So wistfully at the day, And strange it was to think that he Had such a debt to pay. |