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There was neither pity nor joy nor shame
In Roger Harlakenden's bitter laugh.
“Let it burn!” he said; “let the ocean roar!
I have looked on burning ships before.
“I will watch that light with a steadfast eye
From this moment out, till the sun goes down;
If it lasts till the last red sunbeam,!
Will be quit this night of the cursed town!”
Then he tried to think of his wife and child;
But his lips grew stern, and the wind was wild.
Suddenly met him the startled face
Of a boy who had climbed to that dizzy place,--
Half-triumphant and yet half-scared,
But daring whatever his father dared.
The fisherman trembled, 'twixt wrath and fright.
Terror next in that young voice rang:
“Father!” it cried. Harlakenden sprang--
Out went the gleam of the Palatine Light!
He clasped the child in his strong embrace,
He thrust back the curls from the rosy face;
Then faded the last bright flush of day,
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