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Yet gall itt might have beene :
He could still make itt such with ease;
I touch'd and lik'd the downe o' th' swanne ; But felt these words there writt: "Bristles, thornes, here
I soone should bear,
Did God ordayne but itt:
If my downe to thy touch
Seeme soft and smoth, God made it such;
All creatures, then, confesse to God
That th' owe him all, but I ;
My senses find
True, what my mind
Would still, oft does deny.
Hence, Pride, out of my soule!
O're itt thou shalt no more controule;
ON Rimside Moor a tempest-cloud
Re-echoed to the blast;
When a poor child of guilt came there
"My God! Oh whither shall I turn?
Come louder on the wind;
But there's a sight on yonder heath
I dare not, cannot face,
Though 'twere to save me from those hounds,
And gain my spirit grace.
"Why did I seek those hated haunts.
Long shunn'd so fearfully;
Was there not room on other hills
To hide and shelter me?
Here's blood on every stone I meet,
And comrade Gregory that's dead!--
"I'll seek that hut where I was wont
Nor terrors vain, nor things long past,
And fear constrains to visit haunts
Through well-known paths, though long untrod, The robber took his way,
Until before his the cave
All dark and desert lay.
There he, when safe beneath its roof,
Had left pursuit, so wild the paths,
The tempest was so loud.
The bolts had still retain'd their place,
And laid him down, and heard the blast
Terror and guilt united strove
To chase sweet sleep away;
A knock comes thundering to the door,
Strive not to cheat mine ear,
My comrade Gregory is dead,
His bones are hanging near !"
"Now ope thy door nor parley morë,
An 'twere not for the gibbet rope,
The blast has toss'd my bones about
"The elm was dropping on my hair,