With blood, and each sate sullenly apart,
Gorging himself in gloom. No love was left;
All earth was but one thought, and that was-death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh.
The meagre by the meagre were devoured;
Even dogs assailed their masters-all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But, with a piteous and perpetual moan
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand,
Which answered not with a caress-
-he died. The crowd was famished by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies.
The dying embers of an altar-place,
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects-saw, and shrieked, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written FIEND. The world was void,
The powerful and the populous was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay!
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal-as they dropped
They slept on the abyss without a surge.
The waves were dead, the tides were in their
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them-she was the universe!-BYRON.
No eye beheld when William plunged
Young Edmund in the stream,
No human ear but William's heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream.
Submissive all the vassals own'd
The murderer for their lord,
And he, as rightful heir, possess'd
The house of Erlingford.
The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood in a fair domain;
And Severn's ample waters near,
Roll'd through the fertile plain.
And often the wayfaring man
Would love to linger there,
Forgetful of his onward road,
To gaze on scenes so fair.
But never could Lord William dare
Το gaze on Severn's stream;
every wind that swept its waves, He heard young Edmund scream.
In vain, by restless conscience driven, Lord William left his home,
Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,
In pilgrimage to roam.
To other climes the pilgrim fled—
But could not fly despair;
He sought his home again-but peace
Was still a stranger there.
Slow were the passing hours; yet swift
The months appeared to roll;
And now the day return'd that shook
With terror William's soul_
A day that William never felt
Return without dismay;
For well had conscience calendar'd
Young Edmund's dying day.
A fearful day was that! the rains
Fell fast with tempest roar,
And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.
In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,
And strove, with noisy mirth, to drown
The anguish of his soul,-
The tempest, as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came,
With cold and death-like feelings seem'd
To thrill his shuddering frame.
Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he press'd;
And, wearied out, he sunk to sleep,—
To sleep-but not to rest.
Beside that couch his brother's form,
Lord Edmund seem'd to stand,
Such, and so pale, as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand;
Such, and so pale his face, as when
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.
"I bade thee with a father's love My orphan Edmund guard,—
Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge! Now take thy due reward!"
each limb convulsed With agonising fear :
He only heard the storm of night,—
"Twas music to his ear.
When, lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals:
"What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste! The water saps thy walls!"
He rose in haste: beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear;
It hemm'd him round: 'twas midnight now,
No human aid was near!
He heard the shout of joy, for now
A boat approach'd the wall;
And eager to the welcome aid
They crowd for safety all.
"My boat is small," the boatman cried,
"Twill bear but one away:
Come in, Lord William! and do ye
In God's protection stay."
Strange feeling filled them at his voice,
Even in that hour of wo,
That, save their Lord, there was not one
Who wish'd with him to go.
But William leapt into the boat,
His terror was so sore;
"Thou shalt have half my gold!" he cried, "Haste !-haste to yonder shore!"
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream-
Sudden Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
The boatman paused: "Methought I heard
A child's distressful cry!"
""Twas but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply;
"Haste!-haste!-ply swift and strong the oar! Haste!-haste across the stream!"
Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
"I heard a child's distressful voice,"
The boatman cried again.
"Nay, hasten on !—the night is darkAnd we should search in vain!"
"And, oh! Lord William, dost thou know
How dreadful 'tis to die?
And canst thou, without pitying, hear
A child's expiring cry?
"How horrible it is to sink
Beneath the chilly stream,
To stretch the powerless arms in vain,
In vain for help to scream!"
The shriek again was heard: it came
More deep, more piercing loud:
That instant o'er the flood the moon
Shone through a broken cloud;
And near them they beheld a child,
Upon a crag he stood,
A little crag, and all around
Was spread the rising flood.
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approach'd his resting-place:
The moonbeam shone upon the child,
And show'd how pale his face.
"Now reach thine hand!" the boatman cried,
"Lord William, reach and save!
The child stretch'd forth his little hands
Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd
Was cold and damp and dead!
He felt young Edmund in his arms!
A heavier weight than lead!
|
