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poet

Richard Harris Barham

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poem
On the lone bleak moor,
At the midnight hour,
Beneath the Gallows Tree,
Hand in hand
The Murderers stand
By one, by two, by three!
And the Moon that night
With a grey, cold light
Each baleful object tips;
One half of her form
Is seen through the storm,
The other half 's hid in Eclipse!
And the cold Wind howls,
poem
'And hast thou nerve enough?' he said,
That Grey old Man, above whose head
Unnumber'd years had roll'd,—
'And hast thou nerve to view,' he cried,
'The incarnate Fiend that Heaven defied!
— Art thou indeed so bold?'

'Say, canst Thou, with unshrinking gaze,
Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze
Of that