And soon with manacles securely bound,
Myself its only occupant I found.
A dungeon, dimly lighted and obscure,
With pools of water, stagnant and impure,
Whose noxious exhalations permeate
The deadened air, which could not circulate:
And laden with malignant slime and ooze,
Upon the walls discharged in baneful dews:
Or else precipitate, with vapory loss,
Enrobed the cruel stones with pendent moss.