by M.L.
Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.3 #14 (Feb 1846).
Up at a crazy old house-top,
In a dreary room, whose walls were hung
With pictures grim of the gallows drop,
And the doggrel rhymes by felons sung;
There at the close of a Sabbath night,
The hangman sat as mute as stone;
There he sat in the murky light,
He and his shadow alone--alone!
The hum of the streets had died away,
And the mighty city held its breath,
As though it knew that the coming day
Had been set apart by man, for Death.
The hangman rose, and paced the room
(The curse of Cain is a weary curse!)
He Paused to look at the felon's doom,
And he tried to hum the felon'e verse.
At length to his shadowy self he spoke:
"Two living creatures of flesh and bone,
I on the morrow must help to choke,
Doing to them what to others they've done!
"When first I took to the hangman's trade,
I'd many qualms at the gallows tree;
But I said, 'Tis law, and those who made
The law most answer for such as me.'
"The makers of law have honour and wealth,
But I, who finish what they begin,
Can only creep among men by stealth;
For somehow, they think my craft a sin.
"Two on the morrow must hang till they're dead,
And I must hang them, nor pause nor quail;
For where should I look for my daily bread,
If the gallows' gains, alas! should fail?
"We have nothing to fear!" said a voice—(and the room
Was fill'd with a damp and fetid air,
And the walls all reek'd like a long-closed tomb,
For lo! the presence or Death was there.)
"We have nothing to fear! Good men may preach
That life is sacred!—that none must slay!—
But we have the rope and the beam, to teach
That the law can kill its two a-day.
And the gallows-lesson some will learn;
So hangman mine, there is always hope.
That we must thrive until all men spurn
Those grisly teachers—the beam and rope."