The Despatch Of The Doom

 ("Pendant que dans l'auberge.") 
 
 {Bk. IV. xiii., Jersey, November, 1852.} 


 While in the jolly tavern, the bandits gayly drink, 
 Upon the haunted highway, sharp hoof-beats loudly clink? 
 Yea; past scant-buried victims, hard-spurring sturdy steed, 
 A mute and grisly rider is trampling grass and weed, 
 And by the black-sealed warrant which in his grasp shines clear, 
 I known it is the Future—God's Justicer is here! 


 

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