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Rh

Oh! what is memory but a gift Within a ruin'd temple left, Recalling what its beauties were, And then presenting what they are. And many hours pass'd by,—each one Sad counterpart of others gone; Till even to his dreams was brought The sameness of his waking thought; And in his sleep he felt again The dungeon, darkness, damp, and chain.

One weary time, when he had thrown Himself on his cold bed of stone, Sudden he heard a stranger hand Undo the grating's iron band: He knew 'twas stranger, for no jar Came from the hastily drawn bar.