And knew no change of night or day.
One night of horror round me grew;
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew,
’Twas but when those grim visages,
The angry brothers of my race,
Glared on each eye-ball’s aching throb,
And checked my bosom’s power to sob,
Or when my heart with pulses drear,
Beat like a death-watch to my ear.
XII.