Classic Poem

The muse was propitious; how could she decline
A man so determined through her smiles to shine?
So, gulping his fear down, and banishing fuss,
Began his defence with a steady voice, thus,--
"No, I'm not, as your highness might justly suppose,
In error entrapped, as my tale shall disclose;
For my life is as pure as this clear crystal stream,
And reflects yon bright light as it does the sun's beam.
Last night, after hours of watching and fasting,
To slumber unconscious my wearied eyes passed in;
When a vision I saw
Coming in at the door,
Which beckoned me thrice with her hand.
So I quickly arose
And slipt into my clothes,
To fulfil this said spectre's command.
Then she marched on before
Through a small secret door,
And hurried away at such double-quick pace,
That I forced was to run,
Till I almost begun
To think I was in for a long wild-goose chase.
But at length she stood still
On the top of the hill
Where old farmer Jonas has set up his mill;
And pointing below,
Said, 'There you must go,
To hear and see things which concern you to know.'
Then turning my head I beheld a faint, dim light,
Which told me that some one was robbing old grim Night,
And making my mind up to see what was doing,
I asked the young lady if she would go too in.
But she spoke not a word,
So I thought she'd not heard,
And called out again in a much louder key;
When I found she had flown,
And had left me alone,
To go by myself this said mystery to see.
So I quickly descended,
And towards the light wended
My steps, though it seemed to be far, far away.
Though I walked for an hour
Fast as legs have the power,
Yet far in the distance appeared the faint ray.
Then I weary became,
For I thought that the flame
Must be but a will-o'-the-wisp after all.
When like magic appear'd,
On an eminence rear'd,
A hut, whence the light seemed in streams forth to play.
But as I was gazing the light was extinguished,
And nothing but darkness could well be distinguished.
Still I groped on, determined the goal now to win.
But the hut, though soon found,
I had yet to walk round,
Ere the door I perceived, when I tapped to begin;
But a growl and a groan
Were the answers alone
That I got, so I lifted the latch and walked in.
When, oh! what a sight to my eyes was portrayed!
It made my flesh crawl--I was almost afraid,
And nearly had run out again.
But, quick plucking up courage, I stirred up the fire,
Which, though nearly extinguished, soon shot up much higher
And showed ev'ry thing plain.
On a pallet, which seemed almost touching the fire,
Made of rushes and heather embedded with mire,
In a hollow scooped out of the floor,
The skeleton form of a female was lying,
Who, terribly groaning, appeared to be dying;
I twice thought the struggle was o'er.
When she lifted her arm that was shrivelled and bare,
And raised up her head with a wild piercing stare,
To demand who I was? what I wanted? and why
I'd intruded where lonely she'd lived, and would die?
Then begging her pardon, I told her I bore
The order of monkhood, and grieved that I saw
One who soon must be leaving this earth far behind
So uneasy, and sorely perplexed in her mind.
But confession, I said, is the readiest way
To purchase relief; O then, wherefore delay,
When I'm ready to hear all you're willing to say?
Then flushes, like fire, o'er her visage of stone
Flew swift, as she threw herself down with a groan;
And seemed quite determined that nothing she'd own.
For a minute or two there was silent suspense,
When, as past hope of pardon I deemed my offence,
I decided 'twas best I should hasten far hence.
So gently on tiptoe I walked to the door.
But suddenly turning, my movement she saw,
And fixing upon me her keen piercing eye
She bid me remain, as she meant to comply
With what I'd requested, and make her confession,
In hopes that her anguish of mind it might lessen.
'You must know then,' she said,
'That I formerly led
The life of a gipsy, till seized with the gout;
When as I no more with my race could roam out,
Each one of my tribe
Agreed to subscribe
To build me a cottage, or shed of some kind,
Where shelter and rest in my pain I might find.
'Twas a beautiful glen
Where these generous men
Erected my dwelling in less than a week,
For they had not far for materials to seek,
For a forest hard by
Did the timber supply,
Which they axed to support roof and ceiling.
But though, after all, 'twas a rough-looking shed,
I thought as I lay on my soft heather bed
That a monarch might envy my feelings.
But, alas! the next day,
The young Baron that way
Chanced to pass as out hunting he rode,
Who stopp'd to inquire,
In tones full of ire,
Who had dared to erect that abode
In his favorite glen,
Which he occupied when
He gave a grand fête out in open air?
Then very soon after some servants appear'd,
Who quickly began, as I sadly had fear'd,
To put my poor cottage quite out of repair.
How I moaned! how I groaned!
Their compassion to raise.
Though all proved, alas! of no use.
They cared not. They dared not,
Against what their lord says,
To act if they that way should choose.
So they dragged off the thatch,
And tore down each rafter;
While I underneath catch
The dust, and their laughter;
And would not remove till all was destroyed,
As if 'twas my anguish the ruffians enjoyed.
'Again in a hurry you'll not build,' said they,
As lifting they bore me with speed far away,
Though roaring and screaming with pain.
They saw I was fainting yet checked not their pace;
And left me at last in a lone barren place,
Where shelter I looked for in vain.
For the sun seemed to scorch with his terrible might,
And I feared that the damp chills descending at night
Would double my aches and my pain.
But soon o'er the sky such a black cloud spread
That quickly the rays of the bright sun fled;
As it darker and darker grew.
Then the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared,
The hail and the rain down in torrents poured,
And the wind tempestuous blew.
I was soon soaked through, while each drop of rain
And the dart-like hail caused a shoot of pain,
Till I raved with torture wild;
And swore, in the darkness of fell despair,
As I tore in my fury my whit'ning hair--
Though weak as a puny child.
(For I wished to move, but in vain I tried,)
I had slain myself, and had willingly died,
Though sworn to be revenged.
For I swore that nothing should cool my rage,
No kindness hereafter my hate assuage,
Till I'd myself avenged.'
The gipsy here stopped short and breathed,
And much that rest she needed;
But soon as she had strength received
Thus on the tale proceeded:--

'My tribe,' said she, 'the next day found
The cottage levelled with the ground,
And searching, found me lying
Some distance from the ruined heap,
From numbing pain sunk deep in sleep,
Worn out with rage and crying.
They raised this hut above my head,
Spread under me this heather bed.
And tended me with care.
When, strange to say, I soon revived,
Pains sharper e'en than death survived,
And had of health my share.
But still I lived here, lest a fresh attack
Might trip up my heels if I turned my back,
And stretch me again on the painful rack.
And I nursed revenge, till with rage imprest.
I dreamed of revenge when I sank to rest.
My thoughts were revenge from the dawn of day,
Till the darkness scattered the light away.
Oh, I pined for revenge as a maiden pines
For her lover returning from distant climes;
Who expects every day till remorseless eve
Makes her hope for next morn--for the present, grieve.
All hope worse than hopeless appeared to be
When fate, fiends, or fortune befriended me.
'Twas a gala day, and the loathsome glen
Resounded with laughter from joyful men.
I could see the grand tents where the flags waved high,
And I gathered the news from a passer-by.
'Twas the christ'ning-day of the son and heir
Of the Baron's estates and castles fair;
And guests without end were invited there,
To a sumptuous feast in the open air.
But, oh! 'twas a dreadful day for me;
'Must ever my rage then fruitless be?'
I said, and felt I could have willing died,
Had the means of revenge then been supplied.
But again the sun sank swift away,
And twilight attended expiring day.
All nature appears preparing for sleep,
While wakeful alone mine eyelids keep.
But, hark, what's that?--the tramp of horse!
Who hitherward can bend his course?
There's no highroad this way.
'Tis some one who, by yonder light,
Where revels turn to day the night,
Has here been led astray.
But, lo! he knocks, and straight walks in,
A gloomy figure tall and thin,
A bundle on his arm!
Who quickly gazed around to see
If any one abode with me.
His eye bespoke alarm.
'Your pleasure, Sir?' I rising said.
'I live alone in this poor shed;
If you the bridle-path would seek,
'Tis hidden by yon dark hill's peak.
If 'tis the Baron's stately hall,
Yon lights will guide, where rout and ball--'
'Stop, dame, 'tis none of these, but you
I seek, and what I'd have you do
I quick must tell, for time away
Flies fast, and long I dare not stay.
This babe,' he said, 'so young and fair,
I leave a nursling to your care
For five short hours; when three times told
Their number--I will pay you gold--
The child myself I'll fetch, till then
Preserve it from all earthly ken.'

He left; the babe was softly sleeping,
Its little eyes were red with weeping,
As if from recent pain.
I kissed its little tiny hand,
And tried its tale to understand,
When o'er each limb a trembling spread,
A giddiness attacked my head,
My brain was growing wild.
Oh, could it be the Baron's heir,
That had been left my couch to share?
Yes, it must be his child!
In haste the snowy robes I tore;
A coronet each garment bore--
The infant woke and smiled.
I groaned, and turned my head away,
When crowing it began to play;
Nor showed the least alarm.
I neared, it raised its head at this,
As if it sought a mother's kiss--
I could not do it harm.
I gave it food; and soon to rest,
Like some young bird in leafy nest,
It slumb'ring fell, without a fear
For morrow's care, or danger near.
I sat me down the bed beside,
And tried to sleep, but vainly tried.
The terrors of the dreadful past
Were crowding through my mem'ry fast.
The months and months of fruitless hate
Which mocked my eager rage of late;
The hope of morn, despair of eve,
The night, when blasted hopes I'd grieve,
All stood before me; and with smother'd cries
Bid me revenge while Fate the chance supplies;
Then stole away, when that most dreadful night
With shiv'ring anguish passed before my sight.
Once more, methought, I lay upon the plain;
Once more was rack'd with that tormenting pain;
Again I felt that flood of piercing hail,
And screamed for succour, but without avail.
Then suddenly another phantom near'd,
And lo! the dreadful oath I'd sworn appear'd.
'Revenge, revenge!' its pale lips seemed to say,
As pointing where the slumb'ring infant lay;
'Seize thy sole chance, nor lose it by delay.'
I started, rose, and paced the hut across;
When from a distance came the tramp of horse,
While louder still the spectre madly cries,
'Revenge, revenge, ere chance for ever flies!'
'Twas dark, I groped until the babe I found,
Then scrunched its neck, until without a sound
It died--then flung it lifeless to the ground.
A knock, a call, the door wide open flew,
With hurried step the stranger hastens through.
"The child! be quick, I'm 'fore the hour I told,
But there you'll find the promised sum of gold.'
His purse he flung into my lap, but still
I did not stir his orders to fulfil.
He cast his eyes around, then gazed on me,
The object sought for he could nowhere see.
'Woman!' he cried, 'hast thou thy trust betrayed?
Thy treach'ry base shall swiftly be repaid.'
He seized my hand, nigh crushed it in his own,
Yet still I uttered not the slightest groan,
But flung his gaze back with a fearless eye,
And said, 'Revenged, I care not if I die!
The babe no more will cross thy path below,
Nephew of Baron Reginald, I know
Thy pale face now, and guess the reason why
Thou fear'st to lose thy stolen property.'
Just then 'twixt clouds a straggling beam revealed
The corner where the infant lay concealed.
He raised it up, then raved with anger wild,
To see 'twas dead, whilst I with pleasure smiled,
And said that I, yes I, had slain the child.
'O wretch!' he cried, 'the gallows is too good
(But yet I dare not harm her if I would.
My heart grows faint, is overpowered with dread,
The falling blow would also cleave my head:
I ne'er intended it should go thus far,
Yet still the guilt and recompense mine are).
Speak, wretched woman! say, what tempted thee?
Thou ne'er couldst think this crime would pleasure me.
Thy witch-like spells, by which ye think to know
My secret plans, are false--yea, doubly so.'
'Doubt as you like, but hear what I would tell,
Then say if I have learnt my story well.
Yon babe you stole to rob him of his lands,
And as afraid with blood to stain your hands,
You meant to bear him to some distant shore,
Where parents' smiles would bless the child no more.
But not for thee I crushed the viper's brood,
Far other thoughts and impulse I pursued.
It was revenge, deep rankling in my breast,
That sent the infant to its last long rest.
With hate I'd sworn, if chance should e'er incline,
To cause him pangs unbearable as mine,
On that dark night when, deluged with the rain,
I called on death to terminate my pain,
My hut from o'er my head was torn, and I
Was left in dreadful agony to die
By his commands: then am I much to blame,
When greatest heroes boast of such-like shame?'

"No, woman, I can blame thine act no more;
Thy tale, methinks, I've somewhere heard before.
The guilt's more mine--thy life I'll therefore save,
And bear this infant to some distant grave,
Where dark oblivion shall his tombstone be,
In secret 'graved, unknown to all but me.'

''Not whilst I live'!--I seized the babe, and cried.
''The corse is mine--the fun'ral I'll provide--
Beneath my bed its resting-place shall be:
'Twill bring me sleep when slumber fain would flee.
Thou ne'er hast felt that heart-consuming power,
That rage increasing each successive hour,
That desp'rate longing to annihilate
The wretch who dares augment our cruel fate;
But think not I to foes would thee betray:
No, hidden there the infant safe shall lay
Till coming years shall rot each bone away.''

"Swear this to me,' he said, 'and I depart;
But let no temptings of thy magic art
Lead thee astray, for death must be thy lot
If e'er the oath of silence be forgot.

But as I'd keep thee now from further sin,
Whene'er I pass this way I'll just look in;
Or send you gold, which ne'er fails to impart
The balm of comfort to a broken heart.'

"I willing swear, but not through threats,' said I,
"For life's a burden; but I'll tell you why:
Uncertain fears shall wear away his heart,
And even wealth shall fail to soothe his smart.'

"He left--the babe beneath my couch was laid,
Beside the gold which seemed for murder paid,
With larger sums at diff'rent seasons brought,
For though half starved I yet would handle naught.

"But in the morn you it shall all exhume
If you will swear my body to entomb
Within this spot, and faithfully incline
To grant my dying wishes--then 'tis thine.
I would the