I.
'TIS midnight, falls the lamp-light dull and sickly,
On a pale and anxious crowd,
Through the court, and round the judges, thronging thickly,
With prayers none dare to speak aloud.
Two youths, two noble youths, stand prisoners at the bar—
You can see them through the gloom—
In pride of life and manhood's beauty, there they are
Awaiting their death doom.