II. Swift the arrow, eagle's flight, Thought, sensation, sound, and light! But swift indeed is the spirit's speed To the glory of day, or the darkness of night! Who knocks at the brazen gate? A fare By the ferryman row'd to the gulf of despair! With hissing snakes twisted into a thong, (“I drove you on earth, I drive you below, Gee up! gee up! old Judas, gee ho!”) A furious crone whipp'd a spirit along!-- Her blood-shot sight Caught the ferryman's sprite; “Welcome! welcome!” she shriek'd with delight,-- “Thy father is here for his gifts to me, And here am I, his torment to be”-- (And the cruel crone Lash'd out a groan! A deep-drawn breath From the ribs of death, Where the undying worm gnaw'd the marrowless bone!) “For what I have given thy brethren and thee! Gold was to keep up our family name!' Spirit A penny-wise fame! It has kept it up! for 'tis written in shame On earth: and, behold! in that bright shining flame! Old Man. Death so soon to knock at thy door I And send thee hither at forty and four. Spirit. My sire! my sire! unholy desire, The hypocrite's guile, Mask'd under a smile I And avarice made me a pillow of fire; The ill-gotten purse has carried its curse Old Man. Hath Jacob done better? Spirit. Nor better nor worse! Losses and crosses, and sorrow and care Have furrowed his cheeks and whitened his hair. Betray'd in turn by the heart he betray'd, Exalting his horn To the finger of scorn, He lies in the bed that his meanness has made. Old Man.--Crone. Our gold! our gold! ten thousand times told! Thus to fly from the family fold. Spirit. Father! mother! my spirit is wrung: Water! water! for parch'd is my tongue. Is this fiery lake ne'er to be cross'd? Are those wild sounds the shrieks of the lost? And that stern angel sitting alone, Lucifer crown'd, on his burning throne? Old Man. But how fares Jonathan, modest and meek? My Meeting-House walking-stick thrice in the week!