"Heavily I rose up, as soon
As light was in the sky,

And sought the black accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye;

And I saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;
But I never mark'd its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:
For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,

I took him up and ran,—

There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves
I hid the murder'd man!

"And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was other where;

As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there:

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!

"Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep;

For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep:
Or land, or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep!

"Oh boy! that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

“And still no peace for the restless clay
Will wave or mould allow ;
The horrid thing pursues my soul,-
It stands before me now!"
The fearful boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin's eyelids kiss'd,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,

Through the cold and heavy mist;

And Eugene Aram walk'd between,

With gyves upon his wrist.

JAMES HURDIS.

BORN 1763.

DIED 1801.

A Bird's Nest.

T wins my admiration

To view the structure of that little work-
A bird's nest. Mark it well within, without:
No tool had she that wrought; no knife to cut;
No nail to fix; no bodkin to insert:

No glue to join; her little beak was all.
And yet how nicely finish'd! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another?

OTHER WRITINGS.-The Roman and the Teuton; Madam How and Lady Why; Town Geology; and a number of Novels.

The Last Buccaneer.

H, England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high,

But England is a cruel place for such poor folks

as I;

H

And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again

As the pleasant Isle of Avès,* beside the Spanish main.t

There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout,

All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about;

And a thousand men in Avès made laws so fair and free

To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.

Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold,

Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old;

Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone,

Who flcg men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone.

Oh the palms grew high in Avès, and fruits that shone like gold,

And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;

* AVES.-An island in the Caribbean sea, north of South America. SPANISH MAIN.-The sea near the Spanish West Indies.

And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee,

To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from

sea.

Oh sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze

A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,

With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar

Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore.

But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be ;

So the King's ships sailed on Avès, and quite put down were we.

All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst the booms at night;

And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.

Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,

Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;

But as I lay a gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die.