Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/83

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Was seldom smtch'd at home I he rarely slept With her, who could not sleep, but woke ?nd wept. InstinCtively the boy his father fear'd, And, scarcely knowing why, shrunk back if he peared: While tiiial love, concentrated in one, Was doubly strong; he only seem'd h?r son. Yenrs roll'd away, to all or swift or slow, As pleasure wing'd. them or returded woe. Seven now ar? ? uumber'd since young Edmund's birth, To him all happy in his quiet mirth; But the day came, when grieftlrst mark'd his doom, Condemn'd to labour'at the daily loom, While Mary, though the hours had slowly past, Still ask'd, half doubting, "Is it come at last ?." Task'd by his tyrant father, and at length, Like a worst slave, beyond his slender strength, Beaten on each pretence, howe'er untrue, And for not doing what he could not do, Th' unhappy boy began to droop and fade, His spirits broken, and his health decay'd. But then the mother, who h?d still represt Her own deep sorrows in her silent breast, Rous'd for her child, with indignation rose, And dar'd Complain; and what the answer ?roblows ......... ?Google