Unworthy of her. Many a corpse he took
From this churchyard." And then his head he shook,
And utter'd—whispering low, as if in fear
That the old stones and senseless dead would hear—
A word, a verb, a noun, too widely famed,
Which makes me blush to hear my country named.
That word he utter'd, gazing on my face,
As if he loath'd my thoughts, then paus'd a space.
"Sir," he resumed, "a sad death Hannah died;
Her husband—kill'd her, or his own son lied.