This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1817 Excerpt: ...her. More dreadful was my doom than if my hand Indeed had ta'en her life--for sure in sleep The soul hath a capacity of horror Unknown to waking hours. No fetter'd wretch, Dragg'd on a sledge to execution, E'er felt such horrid pangs as then stirr'd up My spirit with remorseful agony. O Wilmot! Wilmot! lead me to my ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1817 Excerpt: ...her. More dreadful was my doom than if my hand Indeed had ta'en her life--for sure in sleep The soul hath a capacity of horror Unknown to waking hours. No fetter'd wretch, Dragg'd on a sledge to execution, E'er felt such horrid pangs as then stirr'd up My spirit with remorseful agony. O Wilmot! Wilmot! lead me to my mother-That I with yearning soul may pour my kisses O'er the dear frame I murder'd in my sleep. Wil. Yesterday morning in this very bed Your mother died a calm and peaceful death, Blessing her son for all his piety. Frank. O lying Fiend! Thou art the very youth That shook the bloody flowers before my face, And from the land of dreams hast follow'd me In ghostly persecution to the light Of this our upper world! Say! where is he, The grey-hair'd Fiend in holy vestments clad? 0 Christ! so wild a likeness in his wrath Of my best earthly friend!--Upon my knees 1 cry to thee--I shriek unto thy soul--Art, art thou Wilmot?--Let me see thine eyes--Oh! they are fill'd with tears! my brother weeps! And well he may--for such a wretch as I am God ne'er before abandon'd to despair. WiL Thy soul will climb into the light at last, Out of its haunted darkness-fear it not. Frank. The Plague! the Plague! the Plague! did she not die Of the Plague? who saw her buried? No one--no one.--Drive off that madman from my mother's grave, And let that angel all arrayd in light Look down with her sunlike face into the pit, Her smile will make it heaven. O Magdalene! Thy spirit comes down from its rest on high To glorify my mother's funeral. Yes! What on earth we love and call it Pity, In heaven we worship by a holier name, Mercy! The seraph whom our Saviour loves. Wil. She is alive. No tears need fall for him Who, waking from a dream so steep'd in horror, Hath such an one to ...
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