Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/87

 THB WEAVERS BOY. While his poor victim &els 'tie herd to know When sorrow here has reach'd its worst of woe; His slumbers chorten'd, exercise debaffd, His meals more scanty, and his tasks more hard; Ev'u the ble'd day, which brings its sweet repose To all that breathe, for him no gabbath rose. To some back chamber was the loom ramsfart'd, Where he might labour still, the sound unheard. But now the worst/s come, thro' gradual cam His soul sinks deep, then settles in despair ! No more he weeps, he searcely seems to sigh, But bears his lot with languid apathy: His sunken eye, more dim, more hollow grew, His pale cheek deepen'd to a livid hue, All food seem'd poison which he loath'd to touch, And ev'n that stinted meal for him beesme too much. Look on him, wretch ! 'ils thou hast written there Unnatural sorrow, and untimely oare 1 Once was that cbeek with health's best colours bright, And that eye sparkled with uroubled light: 'Tie thou hast bid all thee for ever lice--. And who art thou ?--his father !--can it be ? Roam to the fartbet dms, where em!ls snow Forbids the human spark of lfe to glow, Atfection's noble intinct my be ted, Ev'n iu the hapeless tenant of the waste; ......... Google

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