For this he shares a felon’s cell—
The fittest earthly type of hell!
For this—the boon for which he pour’d
His young blood on the invader’s sword,
And counted light the fearful cost—
His blood-gain’d liberty is lost!
And so, for such a place of rest,
Old prisoner, pour’d thy blood as rain
On Concord’s field, and Bunker’s crest,
And Saratoga’s plain?