Their orisons with voices half-suppressed,
But sometimes heard, or fancied to be heard,
Even at this hour.
And thou Mamertine prison,[98] 305
Into that vault receive me from whose depth
Issues, revealed in no presumptuous vision,
Albeit lifting human to divine,
A saint, the Church’s Rock, the mystic Keys
Grasped in his hand;[99] and lo! with upright sword 310
Prefiguring his own impendent doom,