If you prefer the sounding line,
Go read some master of the Nine!
Good taste perhaps you will display;
Let others read my simple lay
That gushes from an honest heart
Unawed by fear, unstrained by art.
I ne'er will prostitute my Muse
The rich to praise, nor poor abuse;
But simply sing as best I can
Whate'er may bless my fellow man;
I dare not stain a single page
With outbursts of unreasoning rage,
But if one sorrow I can soothe
Or one his rugged pathway smooth;
One pain relieve, one joy impart,
'Twill ease the burden of a heart
That has known for weary years
No solace save unbidden tears.
Hard is the heart that will refuse
Due merit to the Prison Muse.
May heaven watch the prisoner's weal
And mankind for his sorrow feel!
My Prison Garden.
In this mind's garden thoughts shall grow,
And in their freshness bud and blow;
Thoughts to which love has beauty lent
And memories sweet of sentiment.
Now, if I cultivate them right good,
They'll furnish me with my mind's food.
My enemies may my corpus hail,
While onward, upward, thoughts will sail
To realms above, where all is peace,
And where the soul may rest with ease.