This news, it appears, so excited the curiosity of the villagers, that
they overcame their fears, and marched _en masse_ to the place. There,
they found everything, just as described by the carrier.
This was all that we could learn. Of the author of the MS., who he was,
and whence he came, we shall never know.
His identity is, as he seems to have desired, buried forever.
That same day, we left the lonely village of Kraighten. We have never
been there since.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I see that enormous pit, surrounded, as it is,
on all sides by wild trees and bushes. And the noise of the water rises
upward, and blends--in my sleep--with other and lower noises; while,
over all, hangs the eternal shroud of spray.
Grief[17]
Fierce hunger reigns within my breast,
I had not dreamt that this whole world,
Crushed in the hand of God, could yield
Such bitter essence of unrest,
Such pain as Sorrow now hath hurled
Out of its dreadful heart, unsealed!
Each sobbing breath is but a cry,
My heart-strokes knells of agony,
And my whole brain has but one thought
That nevermore through life shall I
(Save in the ache of memory)
Touch hands with thee, who now art naught!
Through the whole void of night I search,
So dumbly crying out to thee;
But thou are _not_; and night's vast throne
Becomes an all stupendous church
With star-bells knelling unto me
Who in all space am most alone!
An hungered, to the shore I creep,
Perchance some comfort waits on me
From the old Sea's eternal heart;
But lo! from all the solemn deep,
Far voices out of mystery
Seem questioning why we are apart!
"Where'er I go I am alone
Who once, through thee, had all the world.
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