Page:Songs from the Southern Seas and Other Poems (1873).djvu/122

 Cutting into the vitals of Aaron Mace, In the flickering light was the sawyer's face!

Evermore 'twas with him, that dismal sight,— The white face set in the frame of night. He wandered away from the spot, but found No inch of the West Australian ground Where he could hide from the bleeding breast, Or sink his head in a dreamless rest.

And always with him he bore the prize In a pouch of leather: the staring eyes Might burn his soul, but the diamond's gleam Was solace and joy for the haunted dream.

So the years rolled on, while the murderer's mind Was bent on a futile quest,—to find A way of escape from the blood-stained soil And the terrible wear of the penal toil.

But tins was a part of the diamond's curse,— The toil that was heavy before grew worse,