"To row away, with all my strength I tried, "But there were they, hard by me in the tide, "The three unbodied forms and Come,' still 'come,' they cried.

“Fathers should pity—but this old man shook "His hoary locks, and froze me by a look:

“Thrice, when I struck them, through the water

came

“A hollow groan, that weaken'd all my frame : "Father!' said I, 'have mercy :'—he replied, "I know not what-the angry spirit lied,— "Didst thou not draw thy knife?' said he :—'Twas true,

"But I had pity and my arm withdrew :

"He cried for mercy, which I kindly gave, "But he has no compassion in his grave.

"There were three places, where they ever rose,"The whole long river has not such as those— "Places accursed, where, if a man remain,

"He'll see the things which strike him to the brain;

"And there they made me on my paddle lean, "And look at them for hours;-accursed scene! "When they would glide to that smooth eddy-space, "Then bid me leap and join them in the place.

"In one fierce summer-day, when my poor brain "Was burning hot, and cruel was my pain, "Then came this father-foe, and there he stood "With his two boys again upon the flood:

"There was more mischief in their eyes, more glee, "In their pale faces when they glared at me: "Still did they force me on the oar to rest, "And when they saw me fainting and oppress'd, "He, with his hand, the old man, scoop'd the flood, "And there came flame about him mix'd with blood; "He bade me stoop and look upon the place, "Then flung the hot-red liquor in my face.

"Still there they stood, and forced me to behold "A place of horrors-they can not be told— "Where the flood open'd, there I heard the shriek "Of tortured guilt-no earthly tongue can speak: "All days alike!'"-But here he ceased, and gazed On all around, affrighten'd and amazed ;

Then dropp'd exhausted, and appear'd at rest,
Till the strong foe the vital powers possess'd;
Then with an inward, broken voice he cried,
"Again they come," and mutter'd as he died.

THE PRISONER'S DREAM *

HERE separate cells awhile in misery keep
Two doom'd to suffer: there they strive for sleep;
By day indulged, in larger space they range,
Their bondage certain, but their bounds have change.

One was a female, who had grievous ill

Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still:
With death before her, and her fate in view,
Unsated vengeance in her bosom grew:
Sullen she was and threat'ning; in her eye
Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die :
But first a being in the world must leave—
'Twas once reproach; 'twas now a short reprieve.

She was a pauper bound, who early gave
Her mind to vice and doubly was a slave:
Upbraided, beaten, held by rough control,
Revenge sustain'd, inspired, and fill'd her soul:
She fired a full-stored barn, confess'd the fact,
And laugh'd at law and justified the act :
Our gentle Vicar tried his powers in vain,
She answer'd not, or answer'd with disdain ;
Th' approaching fate she heard without a sigh,
And neither cared to live nor fear'd to die.

* Part of the portion of "The Borough" called "Prisons."

Not so he felt, who with her was to pay The forfeit, life-with dread he view'd the day, And that short space which yet for him remain'd, Till with his limbs his faculties were chain'd: He paced his narrow bounds some ease to find, But found it not,-no comfort reach'd his mind : Each sense was palsied; when he tasted food, He sigh'd and said, "Enough—'tis very good." Since his dread sentence, nothing seem'd to be As once it was—he seeing could not see, Nor hearing, hear aright ;—when first I came Within his view, I fancied there was shame, I judged resentment; I mistook the air,— These fainter passions live not with despair; Or but exist and die :-Hope, fear, and love, Joy, doubt, and hate may other spirits move, But touch not his, who every waking hour Has one fix'd dread, and always feels its power.

"But will not Mercy?"-No! she cannot plead For such an outrage;-'twas a cruel deed: He stopp❜d a timid traveller ;—to his breast, With oaths and curses, was the danger press'd :— No! he must suffer; pity we may find For one man's pangs, but must not wrong

mankind.

Still I behold him, every thought employ'd
On one dire view!—all others are destroy'd;
This makes his features ghastly, gives the tone
Of his few words resemblance to a groan;
He takes his tasteless food, and when 'tis done,
Counts up his meals, now lessen'd by that one;

For expectation is on Time intent,
Whether he brings us joy or punishment.

Yes! e'en in sleep the impressions all remain, He hears the sentence and he feels the chain; He sees the judge and jury, when he shakes, And loudly cries, "Not guilty," and awakes: Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep, Till worn-out nature is compell'd to sleep.

Now comes the dream again: it shows each

scene,

With each small circumstance that comes between-
The call to suffering and the very deed—

There crowds go with him, follow, and precede;
Some heartless shout, some pity, all condemn,
While he in fancied envy looks at them:
He seems the place for that sad act to see,
And dreams the very thirst which then will be:
A priest attends—it seems, the one he knew
In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his terrors take a sudden flight,
He sees his native village with delight;
The house, the chamber, where he once array'd
His youthful person; where he knelt and pray'd :
Then too the comforts he enjoy'd at home,
The days of joy; the joys themselves are come ;-
The hours of innocence ;-the timid look

Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took ;
All now is present;-'tis a moment's gleam
Of former sunshine-stay, delightful dream!

F