The corner where the infant lay concealed. He raised it up, then raved with anger wild, To see 'twas dead, whilst I with pleasure smiled, And said that I, yes I, had slain the child. 'O wretch!' he cried, 'the gallows is too good (But yet I dare not harm her if I would. My heart grows faint, is overpowered with dread, The falling blow would also cleave my head: I ne'er intended it should go thus far, Yet still the guilt and recompense mine are). Speak, wretched woman! say, what tempted thee? Thou ne'er couldst think this crime would pleasure me. Thy witch-like spells, by which ye think to know My secret plans, are false--yea, doubly so.' 'Doubt as you like, but hear what I would tell, Then say if I have learnt my story well. Yon babe you stole to rob him of his lands, And as afraid with blood to stain your hands, You meant to bear him to some distant shore, Where parents' smiles would bless the child no more. But not for thee I crushed the viper's brood, Far other thoughts and impulse I pursued. It was revenge, deep rankling in my breast, That sent the infant to its last long rest. With hate I'd sworn, if chance should e'er incline, To cause him pangs unbearable as mine, On that dark night when, deluged with the rain, I called on death to terminate my pain, My hut from o'er my head was torn, and I Was left in dreadful agony to die By his commands: then am I much to blame, When greatest heroes boast of such-like shame?' "No, woman, I can blame thine act no more; Thy tale, methinks, I've somewhere heard before. The guilt's more mine--thy life I'll therefore save, And bear this infant to some distant grave, Where dark oblivion shall his tombstone be, In secret 'graved, unknown to all but me.' ''Not whilst I live'!--I seized the babe, and cried. ''The corse is mine--the fun'ral I'll provide-- Beneath my bed its resting-place shall be: 'Twill bring me sleep when slumber fain would flee. Thou ne'er hast felt that heart-consuming power, That rage increasing each successive hour, That desp'rate longing to annihilate The wretch who dares augment our cruel fate; But think not I to foes would thee betray: No, hidden there the infant safe shall lay Till coming years shall rot each bone away.'' "Swear this to me,' he said, 'and I depart; But let no temptings of thy magic art Lead thee astray, for death must be thy lot If e'er the oath of silence be forgot. But as I'd keep thee now from further sin, Whene'er I pass this way I'll just look in; Or send you gold, which ne'er fails to impart The balm of comfort to a broken heart.' "I willing swear, but not through threats,' said I, "For life's a burden; but I'll tell you why: Uncertain fears shall wear away his heart, And even wealth shall fail to soothe his smart.' "He left--the babe beneath my couch was laid, Beside the gold which seemed for murder paid, With larger sums at diff'rent seasons brought, For though half starved I yet would handle naught.