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Page 22
The morning dawned full darkly,
The rain came flashing down
And the forky streak of lightning's bolt,
Lit up the gloomy town.
The thunders' crashed across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
Yet aye broke in with muffled beat
The 'larum of the drum:
There was madness on the earth below,
And anger in the sky,
And young and old and rich and poor
Came forth to see him die.
Oh God! that ghastly gibbet,
How dismal 't is to see,
The great spectral skeleton--
The ladder and the tree.
Hark! hark! the clash of arms
The bells begin to toll,--
He is coming! He is coming!
God have mercy on his soul!
One last long peal of thunder,--
The clouds are cleared away
And the glorious sun once more look'd down
Upon the dazzling day.
He is coming! he is coming!--
Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hero, from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom.
There was glory on his forehead,--
There was lustre in his eye,
And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to'die.
There was colour in _his_ visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan,
And they marvelled as he passed them,
That great and goodly man.
He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turned him to the crowd;
But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he look'd up toward heaven,
And it all was clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through.
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept therein,
All else was calm and still.
Then radiant and serene he rose,
And cast his cloak away;
For he had taken his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climbed the lofty ladder,
As it were a path to heaven.
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder's roll,
And no man dared to look aloft,
Fear was on every soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush!--and then--a groan,
And darkness swept across the sky,--
The work of death was done!
A GHOST STORY, FOR THE YOUNG.
MY DEAR CHARLES--
When I promised to write to you during the holidays, I little thought
I should have so much to put in my letter. I actually fancied it would
be difficult to find enough to fill one sheet; and now I do really
believe two will not be sufficient for all I have to say: but to
commence my story, which you must know, is a real Ghost Story! But to
begin:--
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