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THE CAPTIVE.

Co meati).

Who treads my dungeon, wild and pale ?Or do my weary eyeballs fail 1And art thou of the shapes that swimAcross my midnight, sad and dim,Where in one deep confusion blendThe forms of enemy and friend ?Shut out by mountain and by wave,Or slumbering in the ancient grave.

Ha! fearful Thing !—I know thee now,Thy hollow eye, thy bony brow,—I feel thy chill, sepulchral breath ;Spare me,—dark King! pale Terror! Death!Still let me, on this bed of stone,Pour to the night the captive's groan;Still wither in the captive's chain,—Still struggle, hope, in vain—in vain;f2