THE CROCK OF GOLD: CHAPTER XXXII
NEXT MORNING.
Day dawned apace; and a glorious cavalcade
of flaming clouds heralded the Sun their captain.
From far away, round half the wide horizon, their
glittering spears advanced. Heaven’s highway
rang with the trampling of their horse-hoofs, and
the dust went up from its jewelled pavement as spray
from the bottom of a cataract. Anon, he came,
the chieftain of that on-spurring host! his banner
blazed upon the sky; his golden crest was seen beneath,
nodding with its ruddy plumes; over the south-eastern
hills he arose in radiant armour. Fair Nature,
waking at her bridegroom’s voice, arrived so
early from a distant clime, smiled upon him sleepily,
gladdening him in beauty with her sweet half-opened
eyelids, and kissing him in faithfulness with dew-besprinkled
lips.
And he looked forth upon the world
from his high chariot, holding back the coursers that
must mount the steep of noon: and he heard the
morning hymn of thankfulness to Heaven from the mountains,
and the valleys, and the islands of the sea; the prayer
of man and woman, the praise of lisping tongues, the
hum of insect joy upon the air, the sheep-bell tinkling
in the distance, the wild bird’s carol, and the
lowing kine, the mute minstrelsy of rising dews, and
that stilly scarce-heard universal melody of wakeful
plants and trees, hastening to turn their spring-buds
to the light this was the anthem he, the
Lord of Day, now listened to this was the
song his influences had raised to bless the God who
made him.
And he saw, from his bright throne
of wide derivative glory, Hope flying forth upon her
morning missions, visiting the lonesome, comforting
the sorrowful, speaking cheerfully to Care, and singing
in the ear of Labour: and he watched that ever-welcome
friend, flitting with the gleams of light to every
home, to every heart; none but gladly let her in;
her tapping finger opened the very prison doors; the
heavy head of Sloth rejoiced to hear her call; and
every common Folly, every common Sin ay,
every common Crime warmed his unconscious
soul before her winning beauty.
Yet, yet was there one, who cursed
that angel’s coming; and the holy Eye of day
wept pityingly to see an awful child of man who dared
not look on Hope.
The murderer stood beside his casement,
watching that tranquil scene: with bloodshot
eyes and haggard stare, he gazed upon the waking world;
for one strange minute he forgot, entranced by innocence
and beauty; but when the stunning tide of memory,
that had ebbed that one strange minute, rolled back
its mighty flood upon his mind, the murderer swooned
away.
And he came to himself again all too
soon; for when he arose, building up his weak, weak
limbs, as if he were a column of sand, the cruel giant,
Guilt, lifted up his club, and felled the wretch once
more.
How long he lay fainting, he knew
not then; if any one had vowed it was a century, Simon,
as he gradually woke, could not have gainsaid the man;
but he only lay four seconds in that white oblivious
trance for Fear, Fear knocked at his heart: Up,
man, up! you need have all your wits about
you now; see, it is broad day the
house will be roused before you know where you are,
and then will be shouted out that awful name Simon
Jennings! Simon Jennings!