Jaspar

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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.

© Robert Southey