Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men’s have grown from sudden fears;
My limbs are bow’d, though not with toil, 5
But rusted with a vile repose,
For they have been a dungeon’s spoil,
And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are bann’d, and barr’d—forbidden fare; 10
But this was for my father’s faith