Or, cow’ring, courts, against an icy breeze,
Multitudinous foliage of trees.
Thus—for the jailers ceased from watch and ward,
Witched themselves by the wailing, wandering bard—
Flocked, from the unamiable swamp, which feeds
Nothing on its black slime but grisly reeds—
Where steams and groans Cocytus, and Styx holds
Prisoners within its nine coils and folds—
A legion of the newly dead, entombed
In Limbo, till ripe to be tried and doomed;