No friendly voice might penetrate the gloom,
Nor break the silence of that fetid tomb,
With genial converse, which in some degree
Makes men forget their depth of misery.
Silence, most tragic, horrible, profound,
Except the sharp and intermittent sound
Of rodent feet, and noise of creeping things,
The squeak of vampires and their whirr of wings;
Or cries of swift pursuit, or of despair,
Rang out upon the pestilential air,