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I knelt....A parent spurned me from his feet,

And drove me forth to want and infamy.... I mérit this....but not that thou shouldst treat With scorn that wretch whose fault was love of

thee.

The night-blast howls.....Onward the black clouds

roll, Darkening the moon-beam with their sullen

gloom;
These horrors suit the temper

of
my

soul.... Faithless, adieu ! I find a watery tomb."

'Tis still as Death....But hark! the sounding stream

Gives token where she plunged...Dimly descried, On the dark wave with faint and transient gleam Sparkles the foam ; then still the waters glide.

THE

FISHERMAN'S WIFE.

DEDICATED TO ALL ADMIRERS OF THE FAMILIAR

STYLE OF TALE-WRITING, SO POPULAR IN 1800.

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The morn was fair, and fresh the breeze
That curled the waters as it blew,
When up rose Basil with the lark;
On the broad wave his slender bark
He launched, and o'er the crisp wave flew.

He
sung

and trimmed his little sail,
He plied his oar both fast and strong;
And soon there came a sweeping gale,
It came, it filled his little sail,
And swiftly flew the boat along

T

Then o'er the lake he steered, to gain
The creek upon the southern side;
And on that side his nets he cast,
For there, defended from the blast,
He thought his boat might safely ride.

But who is she in Basil's cot
Who sits so sad with folded arms,
Who from the window now looks out,
Now paces all the room about,
Whose face is full of her alarms?

And who but Rachel may it be?
Who may it be but Basil's wife?
The winds her cottage window shake,
Loud howls the storm along the lake,
And Rachel fears for Basil's life.

And now she calls her little child,
She calls her little daughter Jane;
And “haste thee,” cries she,“ to the lake;
And round thee thy close kirtle take,
For fast drives down the pelting rain.....

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