My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price:
A dozen times I groaned; the dead
Had never groaned but twice!
"And now, from forth the frowning sky,
From the Heaven's topmost height,
I heard a voice—the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite:—
'Thou guilty man! take up thy dead
And hide it from my sight!'