I never felt such silence, as And yet my fear The sound of coming feet. The moon was struggling in the clouds, And not a star look'd out; As all alone I bore him on, Methought I heard a shout. I paused, and listened, as if I And I could hear The laugh and jeer Of revellers in their mirth. Oh! how they laughed and rioted, And shouted o'er their wine; No heart was sore, For no one bore A burden such as mine. Oh! how that laugh stuck in my heart, Till from it leapt a sigh ; Then all alone I bore him on To where the dead do lie. I laid him on our mother's grave, Its branches spread Above my head, And the silent moon stared through. Then huriedly I scooped a grave; The last of all our kin,— Unto my breast I closely prest, And gently laid him in. And then I gazed upon his face, Yet no tear could I shed; And then I took A last long look With a loving kind of dread. Oh brother, who would once have thought, That it would come to this; I could not speak, But on his cheek Imprinted one long kiss. But suddenly my heart beat quick, And then the swoop Of dark wings overhead. And there upon a drooping bough, Of that dark lonely tree, Two burning eyes Of monstrous size Were looking upon me. I stood as fascinated fast, And wildly glare Like demons of the night. I cannot tell how long I gazed, At last they flew From off the yew— Oh 'twas a fearful night. Then hurriedly I filled the grave, In torrents fast Tears came at last, And I wept like a child. I laid the turf upon his head, With drowsy stroke, And still at midnight's deepest hour, I startle with affright; For dreams, how true! Come to renew The horrors of that night. THE YOUNG RAKE; OR, SKINFLINT'S LAST ADVICE. A Tavern Scene. Come fill your bumpers to the brim, And listen to my story; For let the world sink or swim, We'll carry on the glory. Here's to old misers and their ploys, It's for sic rantin' roarin' boys, Weel lads I'm frae the Brig o' Dee, Was-"Jock claut ye the siller! If ance the purse grows empty. |