Daily national era. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1854, 1854-07-31
For the National Era
THE BANDIT BROTH Frs
FROM THE RUSSIAN OF rousHKIH.

CONTINUED.
"But, an, not long tho brothers Toasted.
The minions Of tho law soon found us,
And in their loathed letters bound us;
And while one summer slowly wasted,
The woes Of dungeon life wo tasted.
Older by FIVE full years was I,
And harder than my hapless brother
Shut from the bright and cheerful sky,
The gloom his spirit seemed to smother;
And longing for the forest breeze,
He pinned in sorrow and disease.
Drawing with pain his stined breath,
Wandering in thought his heated head
Upon my shoulder faint reclining
Already, at the gates of Death,
To that grim Power whom mortals dread,
His feeting life he was resgning.
And still, with weak and pitcous cry,
He called to mo incessantly:
Il choke within these gloomy walls
o, for the woods and waterfalls
l die with thirst but all in vain
Igave to him tho cooling draught-
Soon, as with burning lips he quaffed,
Tormenting thirst returned again;
While from his face and DER his breast,
Tortured with feverish unrest,
The beaded sweat ran down like rain;
And the fierce heat that sent his blood
Along the veins, lava food,
With crazy fancies fred his brain.
"No longer now my face he knew,
But cried as / were far away:
How hast thou vanished from my view,
And whittier ta'en thy hidden way?
Why has my brother left me hcre,
wrspt in this dank and loathsome gloom,
With reptiles in living tombg
He lured me to this mad career,
From peaceful fields and cottage cheer
Inspired me with his fearless might
Amid the forests wild and drear,
And In the darkness Of the night
Taught me TO murder far from me-
Wide roaming now At liberty,
He wanders in the open folds,
Gaily his ponderous weapon wiolds
And in his onviablo lot,
His prisoned comrade has forgot,'
"Now kindling dcrce within his heart,
The angry fires Of conscience wake
Dire phantoms into being start,
Whose coldly threatening fingers make
His anguishsd soul with terror shake.
More frequent far than all the rest,
A whitc-hairsd form, approaching slow,
or one we murdered long ago,
Comes back to haunt his tortured breast.
Pressing his hands upon his eyes,
In feeble accents thus be cries:
Brother, take pity on his tears
Spare, spare his venerable years
Release him--he can never harm;
His blood no longer courses warm
0, then, let not that blood be split
Brother, mock not his silver hairs
Torment him not-he may, with prayers,
Appease Gods anger for our guilt
I listened, struggling with my fears;
strove 10 dry the sick mans tears,
And those vain phsntoms chase away,
That flied his spirit with dismay.
But still he saw the murdered dead,
From out their forest graves arisen,
In frighfnl dances throng the prison
And now he heard their whispsrings dread;
Then suddenly the echoing tread
OF armed pursusrs drawing near:
And while his ear in terror listened,
His starting eyo-balls wildly glistened,
And shook his feverish frame with fear.
In fancy now he saw before him,
Amid the public squares, throng
That moved in solemn march along,
And thus to execution bore him.
He heard the rabbls's hcartIess shout,
He saw the deadly torturing knout,
With horror fraught, suspended DER him
TIN, shuddsring At the fearful sight,