Excerpt from The English Fireside, Vol. 3 of 3: A Tale of the Past
"O amiable, lovely death!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy detestable bones:
Come grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,
And buss thee as my wife! Misery's love,
O, come to me!"
It was the holy day set apart for rest - rest from all manner of work. Sinking and swelling in the gentle breeze, the bells announced that the hour for prayer was approaching, when the peer and the peasant were to bend the knee in common to the altar of grace and of mercy.
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