And because my jerkin was coarse and worn, It was purple velvet, stitched o'er with gold, 'T was enough to fetch old Joan from her grave To see me so purely drest! But Joan was dead and under the mould, And every buxom lass; In vain I watched at the window-pane, But sheep and kine wandered up the street, When, lo! I spied the old beggar man, His rags were lapped in a scarlet cloak, So he stept right up before my gate Heaven mend us all! my but, within mind I had killed him then and there; To see him lording so braggart-like That was born to his beggar's fare, And how he had stolen the royal crown His betters were meant to wear. But God forbid that a thief should die, But the beggar man would not plead, but cried Like a babe without its corals, For he knew how hard it is apt to go When the law and a thief have quarrels,— O, how gayly I doffed my costly gear, I was tired of such a long Sunday life,-- But the beggar man grumbled a weary deal, So I hauled him off to the gallows' foot, 'T was a weary job to heave him For a doomed man always lags; up, But by ten of the clock he was off his legs So there he hung, and there I stood, To have my own will of all the earth : Quoth I, now I shall thrive ! But when was ever honey made My conscience began to gnaw my heart, Before the day was done, For the other men's lives had all gone out, Like candles in the sun! But it seemed as if I had broke, at last, A thousand necks in one! So I went and cut his body down, To bury it decently; God send there were any good soul alive To do the like by me! But the wild dogs came with terrible speed, And bayed me up the tree! My sight was like a drunkard's sight, To see their jaws all white with foam, Their jaws were bloody and grim, good Lord! There was naught of him but some ribbons of rags I know the devil, when I am dead, I've buried my babies one by one, For the lion and Adam were company, And the beggar man's ghost besets my dream, At night, to make me madder,— And my wretched conscience, within my breast, Is like a stinging adder; — I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot, And look at the rope and ladder! For hanging looks sweet,- but, alas! in vain I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up, For there is not another man alive, In the world, to pull my legs! THE LEE SHORE. SLEET! and hail! and thunder! Winds, that like a demon Howl with horrid note From his humble dwelling From that weeping woman, Succor superhuman From the frowning skies From the urchin pining For his father's knee Let broad leagues dissever THE DEATH-BED. WE watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, For when the morn came dim and sad, |