Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/214

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Still the soft curl and the bright ring were kept, Like treasures, in his bosom. Years passed by, And he grew tired of wandering; back he came To his own village, as a place of rest. 'Twas a drear autumn morning, and the trees Were bare, or covered but with yellow leaves; The fields lay fallow, and a drizzling rain Fell gloomily: it seemed as all was changed, Even as he himself was changed; the bell Of the old church was tolling dolefully The farewell of the living to the dead. The grave was scant, the holy words were said Hurriedly, coldly: but for a poor child, That begged the pit to give him back his mother, There had not been one single tear. The boy Kept on his wail; but all his prayers were made