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Literary Gazette, 5th April 1823, Page 219
Of simple childhood, while the other's eyes
Have less of dread than sorrow. Still no looks
Of love or memory from their father comes;
He sits with clenching teeth and grasping hands,
Regardless of the gentle pity
Which even the dark jailor, whose harsh brow
Has no lines of compassion, even he
Feels, almost moved to sadness! L. E. L.
