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87 ExEcutEd once on the city ring, a scaffold stood;41 so long ago that was; but when tonight the moon rays kiss the townhall wood, the headless ghosts assemble at týn-church and wander anxiously in search of severed heads. A frightful sight! The ring once saw so many die, whose souls have yet to find their rest. one night they rambled in the nigh, christ Jesus leading in the quest with grave and sombre eye. And someone saw them roaming by. it was the painter, and in flight all that he witnessed on the ring he draws: the train of ghosts in fright, with christ they march and to him cling. He paints until a fever breaks his swing . . . He, too, a victim of the fatal blight. ...

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