Who spill life's sacred stream!
For why? Methought, last night, I wrought
A murder, in my dream!
"One that had never done me wrong—
A feeble man, and old;
I led him to a lonely field,—
The moon shone clear and cold:
Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!
"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,