Forth filing from that vault, a weeping train
Who had beheld him now, and should not see again.
XXIII.
Now seemed they desolate—for he, although
Helpless his dearest to defend with power
From the least insult of the meanest foe,
Had seemed to them a shelter and a tower
Of refuge in affliction’s fiercest hour,
From his lone dungeon spreading broad above
Their heads the buckler of his faith and love.