THE NIGHT-WALK. 135 



" On, on," said " I, thy mother's home 



Is but a little way ; 

 I see the distant village spire, 



Dim in the moonlight gray/' 



Ah me ! it was a rugged road 



As ever man did see j 

 Sometimes he mutter'd, <e wife and child !" 



And then prayed fervently. 



Again he cried, " The cramp, the cramp !" 



Then fell amid those stones ; 

 And as he lay stretch'd out in pain, 



O ! dreadful were his groans. 



The hooting owl raised her dread voice, 



The bat wheel'd round his head ; 

 The chilling notes came on his ear 



Like voices from the dead. 



The night-wind murmur'd thro' the trees, 



The bended boughs did sigh ; 

 And as he lay, they seem'd to say 



We've come to see him die. 



A mournful voice was in the brook, 



As slow it rolFd along, 

 And gurgled through the shadowy banks, 



With sad funereal song. 



I saw his life was ebbing fast, 



Ah, me ! he could not walk ; 

 In silent wo we journey 'd on, 



Our minds too sad to talk. 



And now I bore him in my arms, 



Big drops oozed from my brow ; , 



I bore him onward till I felt 



My knees with weakness bow. 



His writhing frame was dark and cold, 



And droop'd his aching head ; 

 He laid as coldly in my arms 



As does the silent dead. 



At length I reached his mother's cot, 



And cross'd that garden green, 

 Where oft in childhood he had play'd 



But would no more be seen. 



And in that garden doubtless stood 



Trees which his hands had rear'd, 

 And flowers he oft had gaz'd upon, 



But would no more, I fear'd. 



I laid him on his mother's couch, 



She weeping stood beside ; 

 He turn'd on me his sunken eyes ; 



And gazing on me died. 



