Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley, Forman).djvu/42

40 And thro' the crowd around him there, And thro' the dense and murky air, And the thronged streets, he did espy What poets know and prophesy; And said, with voice that made them shiver And clung like music in my brain, And which the mute walls spoke again Prolonging it with deepened strain: "Fear not the tyrants shall rule for ever, Or the priests of the bloody faith; They stand on the brink of that mighty river, Whose waves they have tainted with death: It is fed from the depths of a thousand dells, Around them it foams, and rages, and swells, 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.