And like a heavier, wearier woe, Than labour night and day, The consciousness of evil deeds Upon his spirit lay. He thought of slighted Marien, And of the sister meek; Of the thin hands that plied the loom, And of the fading cheek; Yet how he had deserted them, The faithful and the weak! He heard his loving parent’s voice Reproach him in his sleep; And conscience, that stern bosom-guest, Ceaseless upbraidings keep. Yet, for the hated kinsman’s sake, Neither would he regard; And, because man was hard to him, Made his own nature hard. Thus doing outrage to his soul, By chance he went one day Through the brown trodden churchyard, where The little sister lay. A sexton there at work he found; And why he turned the mould So carefully, he asked, since there No name the tenant told. Replied he, “in this wide church-yard I know each separate mound; Yet unto me that little grave Alone seems holy ground.” And then he told of Marien, And how she there had wept Over the child, that ’neath the mould, In dreamless quiet slept. “A little, friendless pauper child, She lieth here,” said he; “Yet not a grave in all the ground Like this affecteth me!” Saying this, he wiped a tear aside, And turned from the place; And, in the skirts of his rich robe, The brother hid his face. --He left the town; and in a ship, Bound for a far-off strand, He took his voyage; but distress Pursued her from the land. At first disease was ’mong her men; And suffering long and sore, In midst of joyless, suffering mates, Forlorn and sad he bore. Next mutiny brake forth; and then That miserable ship, As if there were no port for her, Without a wind the sails to stir, Lay moveless on the deep. As Jonah, fleeing from the Lord, The soul-struck penitent Lay self-condemned, believing all On his account were sent. Anon a tempest rose, and drove The ship before the gale, For three long days; and bore away Her rudder, mast, and sail. On the fourth night dark land appeared, And the strained vessel bore Right on the rocky reef, and lay A wreck upon the shore. At day-break only he remained To note the vessel’s fate:-- The Crusoe of a desert isle, Abject and desolate. --The world went on as it was wont And in the city street, And in the busy market-place, Did thronging thousands meet. Upon the hearths of poor men’s homes Good neighbors met at night; And kindness and companionship Made woe and labour light. The loneliest hut among the hills To human hearts was known; And even in kingly palaces Men might not dwell alone.