Fly! fly! the Avenger of Blood is behind!—

He fled like an arrow just launched from the bow,

O'erwhelm'd with remorse and distracted with woe;

The victim of passion—he'd gladly give all

Life's dearest enjoyments that hour to recall.

The stain on his hands added wings to his flight,

As onward he sped through the shadows of night,

And his startled ear caught in the wind's fitful moan,

As it swept through the forest, a faint dying groan;

The leaves rustling near sent a chill to his heart,

And oft backward he glanced with an agonized start,

[Pg 47]

And felt on his throat, parched and swollen with dread,

The soul-thrilling grasp of the phantom-like dead.

That pang was too great for the sinner to bear,

And his fears found a voice in wild shrieks of despair!

But the night and its long noon of horrors is past,

A broad line of light on the blue hills is cast,

And the city of refuge before him appears,

Like a beacon of hope, giving rest to his fears—

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