What was the shriek that struck Fancy's ear
As it sate on the ruins of time that is past?
Hark! it floats on the fitful blast of the wind,
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It is not the shade of a murdered man,
Who has rushed uncalled to the throne of his God,
And howls in the pause of the eddying storm. a fine poem. tony
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It is not the shade of a murdered man, Who has rushed uncalled to the throne of his God, And howls in the pause of the eddying storm. a fine poem. tony