I bore her down by a winding stair,
And into the streets with my burden crept.
“Hushing her sobs I staggered on,
Faint, dizzy with pain, and perhaps despair;
For sadly we needed some refuge safe,
And who would offer it?—nay, who dare?
Till an aged crone peeped fearfully out
Of her wretched hovel, and hid us there.
“But, alas! though almost too old to live,
She feared the mob, and she feared to die,