Enoch Arden, &c. by Alfred Lord Tennyson
page 53 of 118 (44%)
page 53 of 118 (44%)
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The cordon close and closer toward the death,
Narrow'd her goings out and comings in; Forbad her first the house of Averill, Then closed her access to the wealthiest farms, Last from her own home-circle of the poor They barr'd her: yet she bore it: yet her cheek Kept color: wondrous! but, O mystery! What amulet drew her down to that old oak, So old, that twenty years before, a part Falling had let appear the brand of John-- Once grovelike, each huge arm a tree, but now The broken base of a black tower, a cave Of touchwood, with a single flourishing spray. There the manorial lord too curiously Raking in that millenial touchwood-dust Found for himself a bitter treasure-trove; Burst his own wyvern on the seal, and read Writhing a letter from his child, for which Came at the moment Leolin's emissary, A crippled lad, and coming turn'd to fly, But scared with threats of jail and halter gave To him that fluster'd his poor parish wits The letter which he brought, and swore besides To play their go-between as heretofore Nor let them know themselves betray'd, and then, Soul-stricken at their kindness to him, went Hating his own lean heart and miserable. Thenceforward oft from out a despot dream Panting he woke, and oft as early as dawn |
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