Then with a frown and muttered groan
Quick to the other crept,
And raised the cup in her false hand,
To slay them while they slept.
Ah, gentle Nature, at the deed
You quenched within the west
Your golden lamp, so none might see
The murder stand confessed.
Then thrice upon the frightened air,
The dying lips drew breath,
Twice in they drew the wine of life,
And once the draught of death.
••••••
Now Colman, with his spear in hand,
Late coming from the chase,
Heard the low weeping of a child
Within a lonesome place.
“Oh, hard your mother's heart,” he said,
“Your cries she will not hear!”
Quick from his steed he sprang, and saw
His wife and child so dear.
Soft came the weeping of the babe
Whose fount had grown so cold.
He flung himself upon the earth,
And did his wife enfold.
All silent was she to his cries,
Her cheek was cold as death,
And to his hot impassioned kiss
Came no responsive breath.
And when he saw that she was dead
He rose up to his feet.
And wrapped her in his hunting coat
To make her winding sheet.
