Chapter V

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“Perhaps ’tis better;--time’s defacing waves
Long have quenched the radiance of my brow--
They who curse me nightly from their graves
Scarce could love me were they living now;
But my loneliness hath darker ills--
Such dun duns as Conscience, Thought, & Co.,
Awful Gorgons! Worse than tailors’ bills
Twenty golden years ago.