THE NIGHT-WALK. 131 



I bade him then go rest awhile- 

 On me his eyes he roll'd, 



Then fix'd them straightway on the ground, 

 And said" I feel so cold (" 



Said he, " I'll walk down Abbey lane, 



And up by Newstead wood 

 Lend me Childe Harold, and I'll read 



A walk may do me good." 

 No doubt he deem'd the sun and flowers 



His spirits would revive : 

 In sooth, it was a charming day 



All Nature seem'd alive. 

 And where that spire look'd on the sky, 



Childe Harold's corse was laid ; 

 And o'er the wood his towers were seen, 



Which Time's cold hand hath gray'd. 

 And he now walk'd those far-fam'd fields 



Where Byron oft had been ; 

 Trod the same long, lone, silent woods, 



And deep dells, darkly green. 



* * # * * 



He came not back until the sun 



Went down o'er Annesly hill, 

 Then briefly told how bad he'd been, 



And said his limbs were chill. 



I saw his sadly-sunken face, 



And mark'd each ghastly eye ; 

 I something said about his look, 



But he made no reply. 



The sun had set, the sky look'd black, 



I bade him go to bed : 

 " O, no !" he cried, " we must go home ;" 



And shook his painful head. 



" We must go home I'm better now, 



But thirsty give me drink ; 

 Were I to stay away all night, 



What would my dear wife think ?" 



I mention'd the long dreary miles ; 



Mine host did plead also ; 

 But to see home he seem'd resolv'd, 



And said alone he'd go. 

 " And canst thou walk six dreary miles, 



So ill as thou dost seem ? " 

 " I will," he cried " I must my wife !" - 



Then stood, and seem'd to dream. 

 Tho' distant far his wife and child, 



Yet did his eye unfold 

 A smiling ray, that seem'd to say 



I w r ith them converse hold. 



