The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott Edited by his Son Edwin Elliott ... A New and Revised Edition: Two Volumes |
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THE DEATH-HUNTED. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott |  |
THE DEATH-HUNTED.
Methought I wander'd long and far, and slept
On purple heath flowers, where a dark stream crept,
For ever young, along its bed of stone.
But soon before my troubled spirit pass'd,
A dream of unclimb'd hills, and forest vast,
And sea-like lakes, and shadowy rivers lone.
On purple heath flowers, where a dark stream crept,
For ever young, along its bed of stone.
But soon before my troubled spirit pass'd,
A dream of unclimb'd hills, and forest vast,
And sea-like lakes, and shadowy rivers lone.
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And there a man, whose youth seem'd palsied eld,
Moved faintly, though by famish'd death impell'd:
Lean was his cheek; yet beam'd his gentle eye,
With a calm sadness, on the mountains hoar,
And the magnificent flora, on the shore
Of waters, piled against his native sky.
Moved faintly, though by famish'd death impell'd:
Lean was his cheek; yet beam'd his gentle eye,
With a calm sadness, on the mountains hoar,
And the magnificent flora, on the shore
Of waters, piled against his native sky.
And, “O,” he said, “false hope, that truth-like seem'd!
I thought that toil might earn hard bread! I dream'd.
Who hath had sorrows and despair like mine?
Millions! to wander, or to perish, free!
Green Erin's dower! can lightnings blast like thee?
Cold Rapine! hath the wolf a tooth like thine?
I thought that toil might earn hard bread! I dream'd.
Who hath had sorrows and despair like mine?
Millions! to wander, or to perish, free!
Green Erin's dower! can lightnings blast like thee?
Cold Rapine! hath the wolf a tooth like thine?
“Farewell, my Country! and oh, thank'd be thou,
Realm of the roaring surge, that part'st us now!
And hail, ye pathless swamps, ye unsail'd floods!—
Thou owest nought, thou glittering snake, to me!
Hiss! if thou wilt! I ask not bread of thee!”
And then he plunged into the night of woods.
Realm of the roaring surge, that part'st us now!
And hail, ye pathless swamps, ye unsail'd floods!—
Thou owest nought, thou glittering snake, to me!
Hiss! if thou wilt! I ask not bread of thee!”
And then he plunged into the night of woods.
The corpse-fed spectre, that had chased him o'er
Woe-freighted waves, stopp'd ere he reach'd the shore;
For a voice whisper'd from dim caves beneath,
“Thou may'st spare one, if millions are behind!
Turn then and cleave the blissful western wind
Back to the grave of Hope, where Love is Death!”
Woe-freighted waves, stopp'd ere he reach'd the shore;
For a voice whisper'd from dim caves beneath,
“Thou may'st spare one, if millions are behind!
Turn then and cleave the blissful western wind
Back to the grave of Hope, where Love is Death!”
| The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | |