Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/95

 TH WEAVBB'a ' OY. 7 Yet Me/n'r wak/d too well, and all within Was but.one thottght f dark unptdond sin. Touch't by the hand of God, a blasted trtmk By lightning scath'd,/n slow decay he sunk. A maniac's cell the parish Ims provide, And he who l/v'd in uilt, in guiit's worst torture died. Such wasthe tale, which charm'd my list'ning youth, Indebted less to Fancy than to Truth. A grey-hair'd peasant gave it to mine ea, With many a pause of wonder and of fear, As he, with faltering steps, my way would guide To that lone scene of early suicide, Where yet remains, tho' now for ever shut In superstitious dread, th' i!l-omen'd hut. That fatal spot the simple rustics shun, Nor dare to pass it after set of sun. Gazing by day, will shake their heads and sigh, And breathe a guardian prayer in wand'ring by. For there, 'tis said, unearthly voices talk, And ghostly forms eneath the moonbeam walk. Oft too I sought the village yew-tree's shade, Where, by his mother's side, was Edmund laid; (To the sad deed, 'twas said, by madness driven, To him a consecrated grave was given ;) And, musing there at evening's pensive time, I wove his hapless story into rhyme. ......... Google

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