Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth:
Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe

Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth:
No!-not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth,
Escaped, that night of blood, upon our plains!
All perish'd!-I alone am left on earth,

To whom nor relative nor blood remains-
No!—not a kindred drop that runs in human veins!
"But go and rouse your warriors!-for-if right
These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs
Of striped and starred banners-on yon height
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines,
Some fort embattled by your country shines:
Deep roars the innavigable gulf below
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines.

Go, seek the light its warlike beacons show!

Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe!

Jaspar.

JASPAR was poor, and vice and want
Had made his heart like stone;
And Jaspar look'd with envious eyes
On riches not his own.

On plunder bent, abroad he went,
Toward the close of day;
And loiter'd on the lonely road,
Impatient for his prey.

No traveller came: he loiter'd long
And often look'd around,

And paused and listen'd eagerly

To catch some coming sound.

He sate him down beside the stream
That cross'd the lonely way-
So fair a scene might well have charm'd
All evil thoughts away:

He sate beneath a willow-tree,

Which cast a trembling shade;

The gentle river full in front

A little island made;

Campbell.

Where pleasantly the moon-beam shone
Upon the poplar-trees,

Whose shadow on the stream below
Play'd slowly to the breeze.

He listen'd-and he heard the wind
That waved the willow-tree;
He heard the waters flow along,
And murmur quietly.

He listen'd for the traveller's tread-
The nightingale sung sweet;-
He started up, for now he heard
The sound of coming feet;-

He started up, and grasp'd a stake,
And waited for his prey;
There came a lonely traveller,
And Jaspar cross'd his way.

But Jaspar's threats and curses fail'd
The traveller to appal,

He would not lightly yield the purse
Which held his little all.

Awhile he struggled, but he strove
With Jaspar's strength in vain;
Beneath his blows he fell and groan'd,
And never spake again.

Jaspar raised up the murder'd man,
And plunged him in the flood,
And in the running water then

He cleansed his hands from blood. The waters closed around the corpse, And cleansed his hands from gore; The willow waved, the stream flow'd on, And murmur'd as before.

There was no human eye had seen
The blood the murderer spilt,
And Jaspars conscience never knew
The avenging goad of guilt.

And soon the ruffian had consumed
The gold he gain'd so ill;

And years of secret guilt pass'd on,
And he was needy still.

One eve, beside the alehouse fire

He sate, as it befell,

When in there came a labouring man,
Whom Jaspar knew full well.

He sate him down by Jaspar's side,
A melancholy man;

For, spite of honest toil, the world
Went hard with Jonathan.

His toil a little earn'd, and he
With little was content;
But sickness on his wife had fallen,
And all he had was spent.

Then, with his wife and little ones,
He shared his scanty meal;
And saw their looks of wretchedness,
And felt what wretches feel.

That very morn, the landlord's power
Had seized the little left;

And now the sufferer found himself
Of every thing bereft.

He lean'd his head upon his hand,

His elbow on his knee;

And so by Jaspar's side he sate,
And not a word said he.

"Nay-why so downcast?" Jaspar cried;
Come-cheer up, Jonathan!

Drink, neighbour, drink! 'twill warm thy heartCome! come! take courage, man!”

He took the cup that Jaspar gave,

And down he drain'd it quick;

"I have a wife," said Jonathan,

And she is deadly sick.

She has no bed to lie upon,

I saw them take her bed

And I have children-would to Heaven
That they and I were dead!

Our landlord he goes home to-night,
And he will sleep in peace—
I would that I were in my grave,
For there all troubles cease.

"In vain I pray'd him to forbear,
Though wealth enough has he!
Heaven be to him as merciless
As he has been to me!"

46

When Jaspar saw the poor man's soul
On all his ills intent,

He plied him with the heartening cup,
And with him forth he went.

'This landlord on his homeward road
'Twere easy now to meet:
The road is lonesome, Jonathan-
And vengeance, man, is sweet!"
He listen'd to the tempter's voice,
The thought it made him start;
His head was hot, and wretchedness
Had harden'd now his heart.

Along the lonely road they went,
And waited for their prey;

They sate them down beside the stream
That cross'd the lonely way.

They sate them down beside the stream,

And never a word they said;

They sate, and listen'd silently

To hear the traveller's tread.

The night was calm, the night was dark,
No star was in the sky,

The wind it waved the willow-boughs,
The stream flow'd quietly.

The night was calm, the air was still,
Sweet sung the nightingale-
The soul of Jonathan was soothed,
His heart began to fail.

"Tis weary waiting here," he cried,
And now the hour is late;-
Methinks he will not come to-night,
No longer let us wait."

'Have patience, man!" the ruflian said. "A little we may wait,

But longer shall his wife expect

Her husband at the gate.'

Then Jonathan grew sick at heart,
"My conscience yet is clear!
Jaspar-it is not yet too late-
I will not linger here."

"How now!" cried Jaspar," why, I thought
Thy conscience was asleep:

No more such qualms! the night is dark,
The river here is deep!"

"What matters that?" said Jonathan,
Whose blood began to freeze,

"When there is One above, whose eye The deeds of darkness sees!"

We are safe enough," said Jaspar then,

If that be all thy fear!

Nor eye below, nor eye above,

Can pierce the darkness here."

That instant, as the murderer spake,
There came a sudden light;
Strong as the mid-day sun it shone,
Though all around was night:

It hung upon the willow-tree,
It hung upon the flood;
It gave to view the poplar-isle,
And all the scene of blood.

The traveller who journeys there,
He surely hath espied

A madman, who has made his home
Upon the river's side.

His cheek is pale, his eye is wild,
His look bespeaks despair;

For Jaspar, since that hour, has made
His home unshelter'd there.

And fearful are his dreams at night,
And dread to him the day;

He thinks upon his untold crime,

And never dares to pray.

The summer suns, the winter storms,

O'er him unheeded roll;

For heavy is the weight of blood
Upon the maniac's soul!

Southey.