Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/225

The wheel of time went round once more,
And his weary wing him backward bore,
Urged by some strong destiny,
Again to the well-known forest tree;
Where the stranger he saw at night,
With the lovely lady bright.

The owl was dozing—but a stroke
Strong on the foot of the sturdy oak
Shook him from his reverie.
He looked down, and he might see
A stranger close to the hollow tree!
His looks were haggard, wild, and bad,
Yet the owl knew in the man, the lad
Who had destroyed him!—he was glad!

And the lovely lady too was there,
But now no longer bright nor fair;
She was lying on the ground,
Mute and motionless; no sound
Came from her coral lips, for they
Were sealed in blood; and, as she lay,
Her locks, of the sun's most golden gleam,
Were dabbled in the crimson stream.
That from à wound on her bosom white—
(Ah! that man's hand could such impress
On that sweet seat of loveliness)—
Welled, a sad and ghastly sight,
And ran all wildly forth to meet
And cling around the murderer's feet.

He was digging a grave; the bird
Shrieked aloud, the murderer heard
Once again that boding scream,
And saw again those wild eyes gleam—
And "Curse on the Fiend!" he cried, and flung
His mattock up—it caught and hung;
The felon stood awhile aghast,

Then fled through the forest—fast, fast, fast!
The hardened murderer had fled,
But the owl kept watch by the shroudless dead,
Until came friends with the early day,
And bore the mangled corse away;
Then, cutting the air all silently,
He fled away from his hollow tree.