The dead—the dead lay there! I could not view
(For Night espoused the storm, and made all dark)
Its features, but the lightning in his course
Shiver'd above a white and corpse-like heap,
Stretch'd in the path, as if to show his prey,
And have a triumph ere he pass'd. Then I
Crouch'd down upon the ground, and groped about
Until I touch'd that thing of flesh, rain-drench'd,
And chill, and soft. Nathless, I did refrain
My soul from natural horror! I did lift
The heavy head, half-bedded in the clay.
Unto my knee; and pass'd my fingers o'er
The wet face, touching every lineament,
Until I found the brow; and chafed its chill,
To know if life yet linger'd in its pulse.
And while I was so busied, there did leap
From out the entrails of the firmament,
The lightning, who his white unblenching breath
Blew in the dead man's face, discovering it