Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/81

 THE WEAVER'S BOY. �But, oh,.my lastslast shilling, it is gone, And I am left unnourish'd and alone "I'm glad the brat's a boy, at any rate, For, if he lives, he'll do the work I hate; And, as for money, why this sixpence take." 'Twas one, that she had glv'n him for her sake ! She hears no more, for she has heard the knell, Which sounds to all her ling'ring hopes farewell, And, with one mute, unutterable glance, She sinks into oblivion's death-like trance, While he just.asks some neighbouring dame to come, And tend his wife; then careless quits the room. Oh, how couldst thou that agony survive 'Twas nature whisper'd," for thine infant live.  And thou didst live. This weary world below Were no sad scene of trial, scarce of woe, If, with the first keen, penetrating stroke, God's chast'ning hand inflicts, the full heart broke; Therefore, made stronger than ourselves believe, We live, grief's perfect measure to receive, While death's kind slumber seems to fly from woes, And latest lull the wretched to repose. Yet ev'n thine anguish, yielding for a while, Fled from before thy ehild's endearing smile Thy inmost heart the potent charm conlest, And all tb,e mother woke within thy breast.. � ......... Google

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