Thoughts on a Prison
BY Maria F ALCONAR .
M ANSIONS of woe, where silent horror reigns,
And pensive desolation ever dwells;
Where the sad captive groans beneath his chains,
The hapless tenant of these gloomy cells!
And here the wretch, whom justice dooms to die,
Who sees no friendly ray of comfort near,
Lost to himself and every former joy,
With sad reflection drops the bitter tear!
The fatal clock, at every passing hour,
Wrings his whole frame with fear's convulsive start;
He feels, alas! each rising moment pour
Fresh agonies upon his aching heart!
Visions of woe his doubtful soul affright,
The pangs of conscience teach him not to think;
He sees the boundless gulph of endless night,
And, shiv'ring, stops upon the dreadful brink!
M ANSIONS of woe, where silent horror reigns,
And pensive desolation ever dwells;
Where the sad captive groans beneath his chains,
The hapless tenant of these gloomy cells!
And here the wretch, whom justice dooms to die,
Who sees no friendly ray of comfort near,
Lost to himself and every former joy,
With sad reflection drops the bitter tear!
The fatal clock, at every passing hour,
Wrings his whole frame with fear's convulsive start;
He feels, alas! each rising moment pour
Fresh agonies upon his aching heart!
Visions of woe his doubtful soul affright,
The pangs of conscience teach him not to think;
He sees the boundless gulph of endless night,
And, shiv'ring, stops upon the dreadful brink!
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