And in despair they left him there,
And there his body lay,
Till his sad soul came, all black with shame,
And carried it away.
And those denied a sepulture
In that most dismal spot,
Gibbered and flew, a ghastly crew,
Incensed with rage, that grew and grew,
Against Iscariot.
For their souls were all in torment,
While their bodies uncovered lay,
And never a moment's rest was theirs,
Either by night or day.
That was a place of wailings,
And the grisly things of Death,—
The bare black arms of the trees above,
And the black quag underneath.
No light of the moon fell on it,
Nor ever a star did shine
On the quivering face of that dread place,
Because of Iscariot's sin.
Then there came by the soul of Iscariot,
The same who sold his Lord,
And he dragged his body after him,
But never spake a word.
Since earth his body would not,
He must drag it to and fro,
He had tried in vain to be quit of it,
But it would not let him go.
So the soul of Judas Iscariot
Came by the Potter's Field,
And there the ill his deed had wrought
Was unto him revealed.
And when the others saw him,
They leaped at him eagerly;—
"This is he for whom we suffer!
—'Tis he! 'Tis he! 'Tis he!"
Then all afire with mad desire,
They chased him through the dark,
And each soul carried his dead bodie,
Grim, and stiff, and stark.