But Liberty to them, by cruel fate,
Is now denied the panting heart to warm;
Chill Penury confines their low estate,
And Life’s to them devoid of ev’ry charm.
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Within these hated walls do they remain;
With patience drink the bitter dregs of Life,
And the dire load of misery sustain.
Their hopes, their wishes, and the chance of fate,
The place of certainty, or truth supply;