Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/245

Cutting into the vitals of Aaron Mace,
In the flickering light was the sawyer's face!

Evermore 'twas with him, that dismal sight,—
The white face set in the frame of night.
He wandered away from the spot, but found
No inch of the West Australian ground
Where he could hide from the bleeding breast,
Or sink his head in a dreamless rest.

And always with him he bore the prize
In a pouch of leather: the staring eyes
Might burn his soul, but the diamond's gleam
Was solace and joy for the haunted dream.

So the years rolled on, while the murderer's mind
Was bent on a futile quest,—to find
A way of escape from the blood-stained soil
And the terrible wear of the penal toil.

But this was a part of the diamond's curse,—
The toil that was heavy before grew worse,