Page:Poems of Nature and Life.djvu/259

 THE DYING VISION OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 249

But no ! I must not feel man's wrath ;

My fate is more forlorn ; Each hastes in horror from my path,

Or stares in silent scorn ; And, if a soldier meets my glance, He turns his back as I advance.

��If to my thoughts for peace I fly,

Still peace and I must part ; A hungry worm that will not die

Is gnawing at my heart ; And conscience' self proclaims my ban, Forever whispering, " Thou'rt the man ! "

When quiet night outspreads her wings,

I blush beneath the moon ; Refreshing morn no solace brings,

Nor the bright blaze of noon. The very sun, as if in wrath. Frowns like a shadow on my path.

Scarce do I deem, when I am dead,

I shall escape despair ; If in the grave I make my bed,

Can there be peace even there For one with whom the good, the just. Deign not to mingle even in dust .-'

Were there but hope to die unknown —

That, when the sexton's hand Placed o'er my grave a nameless stone,

I, in the stranger's land, Might thus, even though by stealth, be sure To moulder 'mongst the good and pure !

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