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?