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Peter Faultless to his brother Simon

tales of night, in rhyme, and other poems. By the author of Night [i.e. Ebenezer Elliott]

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
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XXIV.

He ceas'd. The bride, perturb'd, amaz'd,
Still on the age-bent stranger gaz'd,
And felt his accents in her soul.
Soon his sad gloom became a scowl;

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And, “Say, and truly say,” he cried,
“Why thy first husband left thy side?
And why, in late apostacy,
Thou hast espous'd a worse than he,
Who (like the friendless winds, that roam
O'er heaven's broad desert) hath no home,
But flies to mourn, yet not to weep,
While earth to him is, as the cloud
On which, in vain to slumber bow'd,
The thunder would, but cannot, sleep?”