 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie
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I.
Within a prison's hateful cell,
Where, from the lofty window fell,
Through grated bars, the sloping beam,
Defined, but faint, on couch of stone,
There sat a pris'ner sad and lone,
Like the dim tenant of a dismal dream.
Deep in the shade, by low-arch'd door,
With iron nails thick studded o'er,
Whose threshold black is cross'd by those
Who here their earthly being close,
Or issue to the light again
A scaffold with their blood to stain,—
Moved something softly. Wistful ears
Are quick of sense, and from his book
The pris'ner raised his eyes with eager look,—
“Is it a real form that through the gloom appears?”
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie
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