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The writings of Robert C. Sands

in prose and verse with a memoir of the author

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XXXI.
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XXXI.

O many a shriek of horror fell,
Amid that darkness terrible,
Unlit, save by the lightning's flash,
And echoing with the tempest crash
Those stifled screams of fear;
They deem in every bursting peal
The avenging Spirit's rage they feel,
And crouching, shuddering hear.
While ever and anon ascended
The dying Priestess' maddening cry,—
With muttering curses fearful blended
It rose convulsed on high.

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And when their palsying dread was gone,
And a dim brand recovered shone,
And when they traced by that sad light
The scene of their unfinished rite,
And many a look uncertain cast,
The STRANGER and the CHILD had pass'd.