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48 And their swords and their sceptres I floating see, Like wrecks in the surge of eternity."

I dwelt beside the prison gate, And the strange crowd that out and in Passed, some, no doubt, with mine own fate, Might have fretted me with its ceaseless din, But the fever of care was louder within. Soon, but too late, in penitence Or fear, his foes released him thence: I saw his thin and languid form, As leaning on the jailor's arm, Whose hardened eyes grew moist the while, To meet his mute and faded smile, And hear his words of kind farewell, He tottered forth from his damp cell. Many had never wept before, From whom fast tears then gushed and fell: Many will relent no more, Who sobbed like infants then: aye, all Who thronged the prison's stony hall,