He comes to the cell and is introduced in a semi-official way;
With a jolly "Good morning, Ma'am," he comes, and as quick as a morning dream
He has corded his living parcel and flung it across the stream.
The stream flows silently onward, and the flood seems deep and strong,
And some of us pause on the hither-bank slow-footed, and linger long.
But early or late we must plunge in and battle across the tide,
Though the beckoning shapes look dark and grim that wait on the farther side.
But they whom the King's Ambassador, or ever their race be run,
Has summoned, must leave at the moment the sight of the friendly sun.
He's a kindly man, with a cheerful voice, but he never brooks delay