“And now from forth the frowning sky,
  From the heaven’s topmost height,
I heard a voice—­the awful voice
  Of the blood-avenging sprite:—­
’Thou guilty man! take up thy dead,
  And hide it from my sight!’

“I took the dreary body up,
  And cast it in a stream,—­
A sluggish water, black as ink. 
  The depth was so extreme
My gentle boy, remember this
  Is nothing but a dream!

“Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
  And vanish’d in the pool—­
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands
  And wash’d my forehead cool,
And sat among the urchins young
  That evening in the school!

“Oh, heaven, to think of their white souls,
  And mine so black and grim! 
I could not share in childish prayer. 
  Nor join in evening hymn: 
Like a devil of the pit I seem’d,
  ’Mid holy cherubim!

“And peace went with them one and all,
  And each calm pillow spread—­
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain
  That lighted me to bed,
And drew my midnight curtains round,
  With fingers bloody red!

“All night I lay in agony,
  In anguish dark and deep—­
My fever’d eyes I dared not close,
  But stared aghast at Sleep;
For Sin had render’d unto her
  The keys of hell to keep!

“All night I lay in agony,
  From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,
  That rack’d me all the time,—­
A mighty yearning, like the first
  Fierce impulse unto crime!

“One stern, tyrannic thought, that made
  All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
  Did that temptation crave,—­
Still urging me to go and see
  The dead man in his grave!

“Heavily I rose up,—­as soon
  As light was in the sky.—­
And sought the black, accursed pool
  With a wild, misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river bed,
  For the faithless stream was dry!

“Merrily rose the lark, and shook
  The dewdrop from its wing;
But I never mark’d its morning flight,
  I never heard it sing;
For I was stooping once again
  Under the horrid thing.

“With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
  I took him up and ran,—­
There was no time to dig a grave
  Before the day began: 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
  I hid the murdered man.

“And all that day I read in school,
  But my thought was other where: 
As soon as the mid-day task was done,
  In secret I was there;
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
  And still the corse was bare!

“Then down I cast me on my face,
  And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one
  That earth refused to keep;
Or land or sea, though he should be
  Ten thousand fathoms deep!

“So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
  Till blood for blood atones! 
Ay, though he’s buried in a cave,
  And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh—­
  The world shall see his bones!