The Death of the Outlaw

A night of storm and darkness! The strong wind
Shrieked like a tortured spirit, as it swept
Through the gnarled branches of the splintered oaks—
Then died away in faint and fitful gusts,
Wailing its strength departed. The big rain
Dashed to the earth in torrents, for the clouds,
Aweary of their burdens, opened wide
Their vapory cisterns, and sent down their floods, 
Deluging earth; while sullenly, afar,
Growled the hoarse thunder with its voice of doom,
And the faint lightnings shot with lurid glare
Athwart the blackness, like a gleam from hell!
Tall trees and giant-limbed, which had withstood 
The outpoured wrath of centuries, and dared
The rending fury of a thousand storms,
Quivered , as rushes, in the strong embrace
Of the fierce hurricane, and, shattered, fell.
From the steep precipices, turbid streams
Rushed down in foam and thunder, and the vales
Sank under whelming waters!

                                             A rude hut
Scooped partly in the hill-side, and built up
With rough stones from the quarry, thatched with turf,
Pillared in front with trees, its only door
An earthquake fissure in the solid rock,
Stoo lonely in the forest’s loneliest depths,
A meet home for the Outlaw. On the hearth
The waning fire burned dimly, and its light,
Fitfully flashing through the low-roofed room,
Revealed the countenance of one whose name
Had been a terror,—and its ghostly glare
Played over features whereon suffering
And crime had traced their record, rendering 
His ghastly visage ghastlier. Matted locks,
Black as the midnight tempest, straggled o’er
His wrinkled forehead, hiding the deep seams
Furrowed by time, and haply some old scars
Where the stern blood-avenger’s steel had been!
And from beneath his shaggy brows peered out
His restless, eagle eye, fierce, unsubdued
In its expression, and undimmed, as when
Amid the bloody strife, it glanced along
The rifle’s barrel with unerring aim.

     Crouched at his feet and shuddering with fear,
Moaning responsive to the tempest’s moan,
A mastiff lay, looking with wistful eye
Up ion his master’s face. That dog had been
His only faithful follower. One by one,
When fortune’s favors were withheld, his friends,
Equals in crime but not in fortitude,
Left him to battle with an adverse world—
To struggle, single-handed, in his hour
Of utmost need—they left him, and his heart
Gathered its wasted love, and learned to hate
With deadlier hatred than it knew before!

     His had been better days, when Life was young,
And Hope, for ever smiling by his side,
Pointed her radiant finger to the bowers
Where Pleasure, like a goddess, sat enthroned,
And Love and Joy, her beautiful ministers,
Laughed in her sunny presence. Hope deceived
The young enthusiast’s heart—Love turned away—
Joy was for gentler natures—and he learned
To scorn the worship of his early faith,
Which had deceived and mocked him, until all
His household gods were shivered. Passions wild,
Unchecked, untutored, woke within his soul—
Unsanctified Ambition was his God,
And with a fervor which knew nought of fear,
He threw the richest treasures of his life—
Love, friendship, innocence, an offering
Upon her bloody altar. Crime became
Familiar as a sister, and he grasped
Her gory hand in his, and broke away
From every kindly influence, and became
A wild, fierce rover, ripe for deeds of blood,
The leader of a band of desperate men,
Careless of others’ life as of his own.
The law proscribed him—he contemned the law!
Men hinted him, in vain—he scoffed at men!
A price was set upon his head—he slew
The seekers for his life, and laughed at fear!
Those he had trusted left him—self-sustained
He stood alone, and hurled at friend and foe
His fierce defiance!

                                             He had built his hut
In the deep shadows of the tangled wood,
Far from the haunts of men, and, sick of life,
Had come to die, as he had lived, alone.
He felt the energies of life, so long
Stretched to their utmost tension, wearing out
With the consuming toil, the watchfulness,
And wild excitement of unhappy years.
He came to die—despising in his need
All human sympathy. As day by day
Lapsed to the voiceless ocean of the Past,
He asked not, recked not of the tale it bore,
But smiled that it was gone—a portion lop’d
From his existence.

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                                             Fiercer raged without
The turbulent storm—the thunder louder pealed—
Glared the red lightning on the dazzled eye,
A fierce, continuous flame—crash followed crash
In quick succession—and the splintered boughs
Sprang quivering from the Storm-God’s fiery touch!
Yet closer to his master’s feet the dog
Crouched trembling, whining piteously in fear.
The Outlaw’s soul was quickened, and a sense
Of its own power and daring came again,
Waked from its sleep by elemental strife.
A thrill of joy he had not known for years
Quivered among his heart-strings, and the pride 
Of other days came o’er him. From his couch
Of furs he sprang, and pushing back the door
Of his rude cabin, gazed with wild delight
On the mad riot of the raging storm.

          “Ha! this is well! It gives
Health to my soul, and strengthens it again
To triumph over terror, and the pain
          That in the spirit lives—
The powers of darkness hold their revel now
And the strong trees confess them as thy bow!

          The winds lift up their voices
In wildest agony, and the stooping clouds
Hang o’er the quaking earth like giant shrouds—
          The Tempest-God rejoices
In the fierce freedom of his tameless might,
And sits exultant on the throne of Night!

          Gods! What a crash! Again
The terrible thunder rolls along the heaven,
And the red bolts from rifted louds are driven
          As if to rive in twain
The rock-ribbed earth! Another flash!—the sky
Glares, a broad sheet of lightning, on my eye!
          
          And this for me!—my life
Vividly pictured!—for my days have been
A storm—a tempest—terrible to men—
          A long protracted strife—
Dark thoughts—fierce passions—spurning all control
Have waged perpetual war within my soul!

          Now I would die! The hate,
The vengeance of mankind I have defied,
And my strong spirit, panoplied in pride,
          Hath triumphed over fate!
Men could not slay me!—but I know my hour:
‘Tis come—I feel its presence and its power.

          Life! all its ties are broken—
Love! It is cankered by the gathered rust
Of early tears—Joy! trampled in the dust—
          Friendship! it hath no token
Within my heart—my heart itself is sere,
Withered within me! Wherefore am I here?

          Wherefore? To die! The storm
Shall shriek my death-song in the desolate woods,
Mingling its voice with roar of mountain floods,
          And o’er my perished form
The genii of the air their watch shall keep,
Jealously guarding its eternal sleep!

          It comes! it comes!—the cloud
Freighted with death rolls onward! See! the glare
Of the red lightning quivers on the air!
          A fiery, phantom-shroud
Floats from the vapors’ blackness! Mine! ‘tis mine!
Men slew me not! Storm-Spirit! I am thine!”

A flash—a peal—a splintering of the rocks—
The cloud passed on. A charred and stiffened corse
Lay at the threshold of the Outlaw’s door!