Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/89

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T!tE WEAVEE'S'BO?. Upon that Eden, ere th' appointed hour, O, let not in the spo/lers to. devour, ' Lest, sinning thus against the laws of heaven, Like Satan's self, thou should'st not be forgiven ! Look back, compare thyself with what thou we?t: Art thou the same ? so changed in. deed and heart: Yes, for thy heart no change has underone, God could have wrought that miracle alone; And,.as thy pride correction ne'er endur'd, Thy nature's evil now is but matur'd. The seeds were there, the germ, the baleful root; Behold the tree, the blossom, and the fruit ! The thirteenth year had now scarce past away, Since Edmund's eyes first open'd on the day, One autumn's eve, his father, ere he went To the low haunt, where half his hours were spent, Exacted from his labour doubly more, Than even he had e'er requir'd before. "I must have money--see the work be done, And let me find it with to-morrow's sun, Or I will beat thee, aye, 'till out of breath, And leave thee fainting at the doors of death." The words, convey'd thro' sorrow's medium dense, Bore their harsh import slowly to his sense. A blow arous'd him. "ldeot, dost thou hear ?. Must I/w/ce bawl my orders in thine ear ?' ......... ?Google