POEMS. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 'Twas in the prime of summer time, Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, To a level mead they came, and there Like sportive deer they coursed about, Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all, B His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; 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, For the peace of his soul he read that book At last he shut the ponderous tome, Then leaping on his feet upright, And, lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! The young boy gave an upward glance,"It is "The Death of Abel.'" The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain,— And down he sat beside the lad, And, long since then, of bloody men, Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And how the sprites of injured men He told how murderers walk the earth For blood has left upon their souls "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, "Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, There was a manhood in his look, And, lo! the universal air Seem'd lit with ghastly flame;— Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame: I took the dead man by his hand, And call'd upon his name! "Oh, God! it made me quake to see For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain! |