And Death relinquish’d his half-won prize.
· · · · ·
“So young, so lovely, are thine a face
And form for the brand of black disgrace?
So innocent seeming—can it be true
Thou art justly one of yon loathsome crew,
Whose savage ire, and more savage glee,
Mingle guilt, doom, and misery?”
“Oh! ask me, ask me not to speak
Of why I bear this felon thrall;