Silent—save ever and anon,

A sound, half-murmur and half-groan,

Forces apart the painful grip

Of the old sufferer’s bearded lip:

O, sad and crushing is the fate

Of old age chain’d and desolate!

Just God! why lies that old man there?

A murderer shares his prison-bed,

Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair,

Gleam on him fierce and red;