Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

To festered wounds, and to dungeon taint,
And hunger's agony, fierce and faint.

The sunset vision fades and flits,
And alone in his dark'ning cell he sits:

Alone with only the jailers grim,
Hunger and Pain, that clutch at him;

And, tight'ning his fetters, link by link,
Drag him near to a ghastly brink;

Where, in the blackness that yawns beneath,
Stalks the skeleton form of Death.

Starved, and tortured, and worn with strife;
Robbed of the hopes of his fresh, young life;--

Shall one pang of his martyr pain
Cry to a sleepless God in vain?

ÆNONE:

A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME.