XLII.

Sudden a thought flashed o’er him--he is gone, Swift as the antelope, and soon returns With spade and mattock--unto Heaven ’tis known Where found, but frantic energy that burns Like his the will that shapes a way inurns; And rapid his career the churchyard ’mid. Now, now the clay to either side he spurns With swift-plied implements in earth deep hid, And now his mattock strikes upon a coffin-lid!