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I HATE the dreadful hollow behind the little wood, Maud Its lips in the field above are dabbled with ol blood-red heath, egbe tinde sa T The red-ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers 'Death.'
For there in the ghastly pit long since a body
Mangled, and flatten'd, and crush'd, and dinted
There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell.
3 lo stig vort ob ydW
Did he fling himself down? who
vast speculation had fail'd,
Maud And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever wann'd with despair,
And out he walk'd when the wind like a broken worldling wail'd,
And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands 2 drove thro' the airo GMA GUAM IA
I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were stirr'd
By a shuffled step, by a dead weight trail'd, by a whisper'd fright,
bore to And my pulses closed their gates with a shock raw on my heart as I heard
The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the
But that old man, now lord of the broad estate and the Hall,
Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left
us flaccid and drain'd.
barung sdt omi gadw mid diw Hot jedt door sit esil Joy 9:
Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace?
Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is
And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it Maud better or worse
Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone?
sul la floy sit of egin sand-ed ydä st: MIT 7 sthy bolqar
But these are the days of advance, the works of the men of mind,
When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word?
Sooner or later I too may passively take the print
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows?
Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the
When the poor are hovell'd and hustled to-
Mauda ti ai nisoƆ to tiniga sd dining to saul baA
Andrs the vitriol madness flushes ups in the
And chalk, and alum and plaster are sold to the
And the spirit of murder works in the very
means of life,
And Sleep must lie down arm'd, for the villain
on the wakeful ear in the hush of the
While another is cheating the sick of a few last Jewit 300 equit gasps, as he sits
To pestle a poison'd poison behind his crimson
a burial fee, And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones,odu za dons roding Is it peace or war? better, war! loud war by land and by sea,
with: anthousand battles, and shaking a hundred thrones.