THE deed he had done was a terrible one, And the wrath-roused countryside, Pale silent groups of resolute men, Scoured every wood and swamp and glen Where a desperate man might hide. And at last they struck his straggling trail By the shores of a reedy lake. They followed with bloodhounds all night long. They ran him down like a snake And dragged him forth, when the dawn was red, From the tangled canes of a brake. They pinioned his hands behind his back, With buffets his head was bowed, And the mob rushed roaring at his side Like a storm-blown thunder-cloud. And the victim shook like grass in a brook— His soul was shaken with dread ... For his was a deed for which men swing, And swing by the neck till dead. They hurried him on in a farmer's cart Where the road wound rough and brown— And silence fell, like a hush in hell, Over the outraged town, As the people thronged the paven streets In dreadful holiday To behold a mob of maddened men Take another man's life away. They dragged the victim across the park; They threw him down in the square; They noosed the halter about his neck Muscular, swart, and bare— And a hundred men rushed back with the rope, And he shot straight up in the air. All day IT swung from the telegraph pole In the eyes of the sullen town— As tho' the body still held the soul All day it swayed from the telegraph pole— But at even they cut it down ... Yes, they let it swing, the horrible thing, In the eyes of the sullen town, Till the sheriff came with tardy shame, At eve, and cut it down. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 21 by JAMES JOYCE CONTRA MORTEM: THE WATER by HAYDEN CARRUTH WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |