Jaspar
Jaspar
was
poor,
and
want
and
vice
Had
made
his
heart
like
stone,
And
Jaspar
look'd
with
envious
eyes
On
riches
not
his
own.
On
plunder
bent
abroad
he
went
Towards
the
close
of
day,
And
loitered
on
the
lonely
road
Impatient
for
his
prey.
No
traveller
came,
he
loiter'd
long
And
often
look'd
around,
And
paus'd
and
listen'd
eagerly
To
catch
some
coming
sound.
He
sat
him
down
beside
the
stream
That
crossed
the
lonely
way,
So
fair
a
scene
might
well
have
charm'd
All
evil
thoughts
away;
He
sat
beneath
a
willow
tree
That
cast
a
trembling
shade,
The
gentle
river
full
in
front
A
little
island
made,
Where
pleasantly
the
moon-beam
shone
Upon
the
poplar
trees,
Whose
shadow
on
the
stream
below
Play'd
slowly
to
the
breeze.
He
listen'd--and
he
heard
the
wind
That
waved
the
willow
tree;
He
heard
the
waters
flow
along
And
murmur
quietly.
He
listen'd
for
the
traveller's
tread,
The
nightingale
sung
sweet,--
He
started
up,
for
now
he
heard
The
sound
of
coming
feet;
He
started
up
and
graspt
a
stake
And
waited
for
his
prey;
There
came
a
lonely
traveller
And
Jaspar
crost
his
way.
But
Jaspar's
threats
and
curses
fail'd
The
traveller
to
appal,
He
would
not
lightly
yield
the
purse
That
held
his
little
all.
Awhile
he
struggled,
but
he
strove
With
Jaspar's
strength
in
vain;
Beneath
his
blows
he
fell
and
groan'd,
And
never
spoke
again.
He
lifted
up
the
murdered
man
And
plunged
him
in
the
flood,
And
in
the
running
waters
then
He
cleansed
his
hands
from
blood.
The
waters
closed
around
the
corpse
And
cleansed
his
hands
from
gore,
The
willow
waved,
the
stream
flowed
on
And
murmured
as
before.
There
was
no
human
eye
had
seen
The
blood
the
murderer
spilt,
And
Jaspar's
conscience
never
knew
The
avenging
goad
of
guilt.
And
soon
the
ruffian
had
consum'd
The
gold
he
gain'd
so
ill,
And
years
of
secret
guilt
pass'd
on
And
he
was
needy
still.
One
eve
beside
the
alehouse
fire
He
sat
as
it
befell,
When
in
there
came
a
labouring
man
Whom
Jaspar
knew
full
well.
He
sat
him
down
by
Jaspar's
side
A
melancholy
man,
For
spite
of
honest
toil,
the
world
Went
hard
with
Jonathan.
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
quick
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.
The
traveller
who
journies
there
He
surely
has
espied
A
madman
who
has
made
his
home
Upon
the
river's
side.
His
cheek
is
pale,
his
eye
is
wild,
His
look
bespeaks
despair;
For
Jaspar
since
that
hour
has
made
His
home
unshelter'd
there.
And
fearful
are
his
dreams
at
night
And
dread
to
him
the
day;
He
thinks
upon
his
untold
crime
And
never
dares
to
pray.
The
summer
suns,
the
winter
storms,
O'er
him
unheeded
roll,
For
heavy
is
the
weight
of
blood
Upon
the
maniac's
soul.
