_She_ slept in peace,--his pulses throbbed and stopped, Breathless he gazed upon her face,--then took Her hand in his, and raised it, but both dropped, When on his own he cast a rueful look. His ears were never silent; sleep forsook 635 His burning eyelids stretched and stiff as lead; All night from time to time under him shook The floor as he lay shuddering on his bed; And oft he groaned aloud, "O God, that I were dead!" LXXII The Soldier's Widow lingered in the cot; 640 And, when he rose, he thanked her pious care Through which his Wife, to that kind shelter brought, Died in his arms; and with those thanks a prayer He breathed for her, and for that merciful pair. The corse interred, not one hour he remained 645 Beneath their roof, but to the open air A burthen, now with fortitude sustained, He bore within a breast where dreadful quiet reigned. LXXIII Confirmed of purpose, fearlessly prepared For act and suffering, to the city straight 650 He journeyed, and forthwith his crime declared: "And from your doom," he added, "now I wait, Nor let it linger long, the murderer's fate." Not ineffectual was that piteous claim: "O welcome sentence which will end though late," 655 He said, "the pangs that to my conscience came Out of that deed. My trust, Saviour! is in thy name!" LXXIV His fate was pitied. Him in iron case (Reader, forgive the intolerable thought) They hung not:--no one on _his_ form or face 660 Could gaze, as on a show by idlers sought; No kindred sufferer, to his death-place brought By lawless curiosity or chance, When into storm the evening sky is wrought, Upon his swinging corse an eye can glance, 665 And drop, as he once dropped, in miserable trance. * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1845. Three years ... 1842.] [Variant 2: 1845. ... rose and pursued ... 1842.] [Variant 3: 1845. ... demoniac ... 1842.] [Variant 4: 1845. Than he who now at night-fall treads thy bare domain! 1842.] [Variant 5: 1845. And, from its perilous shelter driven, ... 1842.] [Variant 6: The following stanza was only in the editions of 1798 and 1800: By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood, (The Woman thus her artless story told) One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold. Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd: With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore My father's nets, or watched, when from the fold High o'er the cliffs I led my fleecy store, A dizzy depth below! his boat and twinkling oar. 1798.