STRANGER. Old friend! why you seem bent on p… Breaking the highway stones,—and ’… Somewhat too hard methinks for age… OLD MAN.

I charm thy life, From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent’s tooth,

High in the air expos’d the Slave… To all the birds of Heaven, their… He groans not, tho’ awaked by that… New torturers live to drink their… He groans not, tho’ the gorging V…

And wherefore do the Poor complai… The rich man asked of me,— Come walk abroad with me, I said And I will answer thee. Twas evening and the frozen street…

No eye beheld when William plunge… Young Edmund in the stream, No human ear but William’s heard Young Edmund’s drowning scream. Submissive all the vassals own’d

The Doctor whispered to the Nurse And the Surgeon knew what he said… And he grew pale at the Doctor’s… And trembled in his sick bed. Now fetch me my brethren and fetch…

And they have drown’d thee then at… The burthen of old age was heavy o… And yet thou should’st have lived!… Was dim, and watch’d no more with… The wonted call that on thy dull s…

MY days among the Dead are past;    Around me I behold, Where’er these casual eyes are cas…    The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they,

Why dost thou beat thy breast and… And to the deaf sea pour thy frant… Before the gale the laden vessel f… The Heavens all-favoring smile, t… Hark to the clamors of the exultin…

Dark HORROR, hear my call! Stern Genius hear from thy retrea… On some old sepulchre’s moss-canke… Beneath the Abbey’s ivied wall That trembles o’er its shade;

‘How does the water Come down at Lodore?’ My little boy asked me Thus, once on a time; And moreover he tasked me

ACT III. SCENE—SMITHFIELD. PIERS (meeting JOHN BALL.) You look disturb’d, my father? JOHN BALL.

Think Valentine, as speeding on t… Homeward thou hastest light of hea… If heavily creep on one little day The medley crew of travellers amon… Think on thine absent friend: refl…

Did then the bold Slave rear at l… Of Vengeance? drench’d he deep it… In the cold bosom of his tyrant lo… Oh! who shall blame him? thro’ the… Still o’er his tortur’d memory rus…

What! and not one to heave the pio… Not one whose sorrow-swoln and ach… For social scenes, for life’s ende… Shall drop a tear and dwell upon t… Poor wretched Outcast! I will wee…