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His black matted head on his shoulder is bent,
And deep is the sigh of his breath,
And with stedfast dejection his eyes are intent
On the fetters that link him to death.
And deep is the sigh of his breath,
And with stedfast dejection his eyes are intent
On the fetters that link him to death.
'Tis sorrow enough on that visage to gaze.
That body dismiss'd from his care;
Yet my fancy has pierced to his heart, and pourtrays
More terrible images there.
That body dismiss'd from his care;
Yet my fancy has pierced to his heart, and pourtrays
More terrible images there.
His bones are consumed, and his life-blood is dried,
With wishes the past to undo;
And his crime, through the pains that o'erwhelm him, descried,
Still blackens and grows on his view.
With wishes the past to undo;
And his crime, through the pains that o'erwhelm him, descried,
Still blackens and grows on his view.
When from the dark synod, or blood-reeking field,
To his chamber the monarch is led,
All soothers of sense their soft virtue shall yield,
And quietness pillow his head.
To his chamber the monarch is led,
All soothers of sense their soft virtue shall yield,
And quietness pillow his head.
