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The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot, nor reek did they;
The look with which they look'd on me,
Had never pass'd away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
A spirit from on high:
But O! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up
And a star or two beside—
