Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair; And look'd from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair: And shouted but once more aloud, 'My father! must I stay?' While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And stream'd above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound-- The boy--oh, where was he? --Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strew'd the sea! THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM THOMAS HOOD 'Twas in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran, and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouch'd by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in; Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran-- Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can: But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man. His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessèd breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees. Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside; For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome; With a fast and fervent grasp He strain'd the dusky covers close, And fix'd the brazen hasp: 'O Heav'n, could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!' Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took; Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook: And lo, he saw a little boy That pored upon a book. 'My gentle lad, what is 't you read-- Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page Of kings and crowns unstable?' The young boy gave an upward glance-- 'It is the death of Abel.' The usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain; Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again: And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod-- Ay, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God.