There was no human eye had seen And soon the ruffian had consumed 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, For, spite of honest toil, the world His toil a little earned, and he Long, with his wife and little ones, And saw their looks of wretchedness, Their landlord, a hard man, that day Had seized the little left, And now the sufferer found himself Of every thing bereft. He leaned his head upon his hand, His elbow on his knee, And so by Jaspar's side he sate, "Nay-why so downcast ?" Jaspar cried, 66 Come-cheer up, Jonathan! Drink, neighbour, drink! 'twill warm thy heart- He took the cup that Jaspar gave, "She has no bed to lie upon, "Our landlord he goes home to-night, I would that I were in my grave, "In vain I prayed him to forbear, Though wealth enough has he! God be to him as merciless As he has been to me!" When Jaspar saw the poor man's soul He plied him with the heartening cup, "This landlord on his homeward road He listened to the tempter's voice, Along the lonely road they went, They sate them down beside the stream They sate them down beside the stream, The night was calm, the night was dark, No star was in the sky; The wind it waved the willow-boughs, The stream flowed quietly. The night was calm, the air was still, 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-nightNo longer let us wait." "Have patience, man!" the ruffian said, But longer shall his wife expect Then Jonathan grew sick at heart: "My conscience yet is clear! Jaspar-it is not yet too lateI will not linger here." "How now!” cried Jaspar, "why, I thought Thy conscience was asleep; No more such qualms!—the night is dark, "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 above, nor eye below, Can pierce the darkness here." That instant as the murderer spake, It hung upon the willow-tree, The traveller who journeys there, A madman who has made his home His cheek is pale, his eye is wild, And fearful are his dreams at night, The summer suns, the winter storms, O'er him unheeded roll, For heavy is the weight of blood Thomas Campbell. HOHENLINDEN. N Linden, when the sun was low, ON All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. |