That outcast of pity behold.

"Though in virtues proud mouth thy report be a stain,

The glory of evening was spread through the west;

That body dismissd from his care;

The silence of sorrow it seems to supply,

The wretch on his pallet should turn,

His black matted head on his shoulder is bent,

A thousand sharp punctures of cold-sweating pain,

And conscience her tortures appease,

With wishes the past to undo;

When from the dark synod, or blood-reeking ?eld,

In the pain of my spirit I said,

And deep is the sigh of his breath,

"With oerweening complacence our state to compare,

On the fetters that link him to death.

And quietness pillow his head.

And asks of me why I am here.

Tis sorrow enough on that visage to gaze.

To the hｔｔps://ｒeａｄ•９9cｓｗ.ｃomcell where the convict is laid.

If, while a half-slumber his memory bedims,

And the motion unsettles a tear;

In the comfortless vault of disease.

And his crime, through the pains that oerwhelm him, descried,

--On the slope of a mountain I stood;

And with stedfast dejection his eyes are intent

"But one, whose ?rst wish is the wish to be good,

While the jail-mastiff howls 九*九*藏*書at the dull clanking chain,

When his fetters at night have so pressd on his limbs,

"At thy name though compassion her nature resign,

And with a deep sadness I turned, to repair

"Poor victim! no idle intruder has stood

"Is come as a brother thy sorrows to share.

That the weight can no longer be borne,

Yet my fancy has pierced to his heart, and pourtrays

Mid tumult and uproar thread.99csw.comis man must repose;

The thick-ribbed walls that oershadow the gate

His bones are consumed, and his life-blood is dried,

Resound; and the dungeons unfold:

"And must we then part from a dwelling so fair?"

Still blackens and grows on his view.

To his chamber the monarch is led,

But now he half-raises his deep-sunken eye,

And terror shall leap at his heart.

"My care, if the arm of the ｒead.99ｃsｗ•commighty were mine,

Rang loud through the meadow and wood.

But if grief, self-consumed, in oblivion would doze,

"Would plant thee where yet thou mightst blossom again."

More terrible images there.

From the roots of his hair there shall start

All soothers of sense their soft virtue shall yield,

I pause; and at length, through the glimmering grate,

While the joy that precedes the calm season of rest