132 THE NIGHT-WALK. 



Well," answer'd I, " if you're resolved 

 To reach your home to-night, 



I, too, will your companion be ;" 

 He smiling said, " That's right. 



" Tho' I am ill, and very ill, 



My wife will wait on me ; 

 Fear not, we soon shall walk six miles ;" 



So onward journey'd we. 



The night was dark, the rain fell fast, 

 His home then fill'd his mind ; 



He walk'd as if he walk'd for life, 

 I follow'd close behind. 



On on we went a dreary mile, 



Adown a dark, wild lane ; 

 But soon we were compell'd to halt, 



He could not walk for pain. 



There was a house, a low lone house, 



The last we had to pass, 

 Before we enter'd that wild heath, 



Where gorse o'ertops the grass. 



He bade me once more fetch him drink, 

 And feel his parched tongue ; 



I drew drink from that cottage- well, 

 He o'er the white gate hung. 



The cottager came out to see, 



And sadly shook his head ; 

 No doubt he deem'd Death's hand was there, 



But not a word he said. 



And now upon a wild wide heath 



None others could you see ; 

 Alone, alone we journey'd on, 



A dying man with me. 



Nor house, nor solitary cot 



On that wild heath did stand ; 



The rush, the fern, and armed furze 

 Alone grew on that land. 



Upon my arm he heavy hung, 

 Away we went tramp, tramp ; 



But, oh ! we had not journey'd far, 

 Before he cried, " The cramp !" 



I knelt amid that golden broom, 

 Amid that rain-dren ch'd fern, 



^A.nd rubb'd his chilly, knotted limbs ; 

 His face look'd dark and stern. 



Then on we went across that heath, 

 And stopt as fresh pains came ; 



Sometimes he mutter'd to himself, 

 " My wife !" I heard her name. 



