In strict compliance with the law of power;
Each pris’ner to his cheerless roof repairs;
And I, in thought, amuse the vacant hour.
Now sable Night, o’er all her mantle throws,
And solemn silence reigns throughout the yard;
Save where yon vet’ran to his station goes,
A poor, disabled, solitary guard!
Save that from yonder room in mournful strains,
With melancholy tone, and plaintive air,
Some tender Father, to the Night complains