His toil a little earn’d, and he With little was content, But sickness on his wife had fallen And all he had was spent. Then with his wife and little ones He shared the scanty meal, And saw their looks of wretchedness, And felt what wretches feel. That very morn the Landlord’s power Had seized the little left, And now the sufferer found himself Of every thing bereft. He lent his head upon his hand, His elbow on his knee, And so by Jaspar’s side he sat And not a word said he. Nay—why so downcast? Jaspar cried, Come—cheer up Jonathan! Drink neighbour drink! ’twill warm thy heart, Come! come! take courage man! He took the cup that Jaspar gave And down he drain’d it *quic I have a wife, said Jonathan, And she is deadly sick. She has no bed to lie upon, I saw them take her bed. And I have children—would to God That they and I were dead! Our Landlord he goes home to night And he will sleep in peace. I would that I were in my grave For there all troubles cease. In vain I pray’d him to forbear Tho’ wealth enough has he— God be to him as merciless As he has been to me! When Jaspar saw the poor man’s soul On all his ills intent, He plied him with the heartening cup And with him forth he went. This landlord on his homeward road ’Twere easy now to meet. The road is lonesome—Jonathan, And vengeance, man! is sweet. He listen’d to the tempter’s voice The thought it made him start. His head was hot, and wretchedness Had hardened now his heart. Along the lonely road they went And waited for their prey, They sat them down beside the stream That crossed the lonely way. They sat them down beside the stream And never a word they said, They sat and listen’d silently To hear the traveller’s tread. The night was calm, the night was dark, No star was in the sky, The wind it waved the willow boughs, The stream flowed quietly. The night was calm, the air was still, Sweet sung the nightingale, The soul of Jonathan was sooth’d, His heart began to fail. ’Tis weary waiting here, he cried, And now the hour is late,— Methinks he will not come to night, ’Tis useless more to wait. Have patience man! the ruffian said, A little we may wait, But longer shall his wife expect Her husband at the gate. Then Jonathan grew sick at heart, My conscience yet is clear, Jaspar—it is not yet too late— I will not linger here. How now! cried Jaspar, why I thought Thy conscience was asleep. No more such qualms, the night is dark, The river here is deep, What matters that, said Jonathan, Whose blood began to freeze, When there is one above whose eye The deeds of darkness sees? We are safe enough, said Jaspar then If that be all thy fear; Nor eye below, nor eye above Can pierce the darkness here. That instant as the murderer spake There came a sudden light; Strong as the mid-day sun it shone, Though all around was night. It hung upon the willow tree, It hung upon the flood, It gave to view the poplar isle And all the scene of blood.