Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/85

 THE WEAVEE'S BOY. ( In worse than loneliness, for t!t were joy To weep, where none thy sorrows might annoy-- None hast thou now, whose tender words may cheer, Whose hand wipe off the still-returning tear; On whose kind breast to hang for sweet relief, While grief imparted seem'd no longer gre� But thou must see a proud, vain, wanton led Where once thy mother prest the marriage bed, And, at the table, shuddering view the chair, For her mild looks no longer meet thee there. The female fiend, who had usurp'd her place, Hated the living portrait of her face, Snatch'd all, the father left, of inward bliss, And join'd her curses and her blows to his. If e'er, for sometimes ev'n the worst will melt, One struggle of parental love he felt, She knew to stifle, with infernal art, The better purpose of his sof'ning heart. Poor child! when bothbeneath the night W;nt forth To join the revels of intemperate mirth, He sought his mother's grave, those 'tears to shed, Which he must hide by day with eantious dread. There, as from long. restraint they faster flow, He sobb'd th' irapassion*d, broken, words of woe. "0 Mother--wilt thouearest Motherreheat . Wilt thou not answer, Mother ?--and so near !" ......... Google

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