"And backward to the forest fly, By instinct, from a human eye.—

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They left me there, to my despair, "Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, "Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, “Relieved from that unwonted weight, "From whence I could not extricate "Nor him nor me-and there we lay "The dying on the dead!

“I little deem'd another day

"Would see my houseless, helpless head.

“And there from morn till twilight bound, "I felt the heavy hours toil round,

"With just enough of life to see

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My last of suns go down on me,

"In hopeless certainty of mind,

“That makes us feel at length resign'd
"To that which our foreboding years
"Presents the worst and last of fears

"Inevitable-even a boon,

"Nor more unkind for coming soon; "Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care, "As if it only were a snare

“That prudence might escape:

"At times both wish'd for and implored,

"At times sought with self-pointed sword,

"Yet still a dark and hideous close "To even intolerable woes,

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"And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,
They who have revell'd beyond measure

In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,

"Die calm, or calmer, oft than he

"Whose heritage was misery:

"For he who hath in turn run through "All that was beautiful and new,

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"Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave;

'And, save the future, (which is view'd

"Not quite as men are base or good,

"But as their nerves may be endued),

"With nought perhaps to grieve :— "The wretch still hopes his woes must end, "And Death, whom he should deem his friend, "Appears, to his distemper'd eyes,

"Arrived to rob him of his prize, "The tree of his new Paradise.

"To-morrow would have given him all,

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Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; "To-morrow would have been the first "Of days no more deplored or curst, "But bright, and long, and beckoning years,

"Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,

"Guerdon of many a painful hour;
"To-morrow would have given him power

"To rule, to shine, to smite, to save—

"And must it dawn

upon his grave?

XVIII.

"The sun was sinking-still I lay
"Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed,
"I thought to mingle there our clay;
"And my dim eyes of death had need,
"No hope arose of being freed:
"I cast my last looks up the sky,

"And there between me and the sun

"I saw the expecting raven fly,

"Who scarce would wait till both should die,

"Ere his repast begun;

"He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, "And each time nearer than before;

"I saw his wing through twilight flit,

"And once so near me he alit

"I could have smote, but lack'd the strength;

"But the slight motion of my hand,

"And feeble scratching of the sand,

"The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
"Which scarcely could be call'd a voice,
"Together scared him off at length.--

"WHO SARC WOULD WAIT TILL BOTH SHOULD DIE,