lating fierce,
And gasping struggles, mingled groans, proclaim
The power of torture o'er the writhing frame.
Dark are your dens, and deep your secret cells,
Whose silent gloom your tale of horrors tells.
Saw ye how Cranmer dared--yet fear'd to die,
Trembling 'mid hopes of immortality?
He stood alone;--a brighter band appears
Unaw'd by threats--impregnable to fears;
Who suffer'd glad the sacred truth to spread,
In mild obedience to its fountain-head.
And when at length our popish James would see
Cold superstition bend th' unhallow'd knee,
The mystic tapers on our altars burn,
And clouds of incense shade the fragrant urn,
Shone England's prelates faithful to their call,
In bonds of truth within thy massive wall.
See grace divine--see Heaven in mercy pour,
The balm of peace on Albion's boasted shore.

Once wrought by captive fingers on thy wall,
The hero's home and prison, grave and pall,
What dark lines meet the startled stranger's gaze,
Thoughts that ennoble--sentiments that raise
The iron'd captive from captivity,
How high above the power of tyranny!--
And ye that wander by the evening tide,
Where mountains swell or mossy streamlets glide;
That on fresh hills can hail morn's orient ray,
And chant with birds your grateful hymns to day;
Or seek at noon, beneath some pleasant shade,
To feel the sunbeams cool'd by leafy glade--
That free as air, morn, noon, and eve, can roam,
Where'er you list, and nature call your home;
Learn from a hopeless prisoner's words and fate,
"Virtue is valour--to be patient, great!"
When traced on prison walls, such words as these
Arrest the eye--appall e'en while they please--
"Ah! hapless he who cannot bear the weight,
With patient heart of a too partial fate,
For adverse times and fortunes do not kill,
But rash impatience of impending ill."

Yes, still they speak to bosoms that are free
Within the girdle of captivity;
Of spirits dauntless, who could spurn the chain
Of human punishment or mortal pain;
That e'en amid these precincts of despair,
Dared free themselves from thraldom's jealous care--
Bound but by ties of faith and virtue, be
Heirs of bright hopes and immortality.
Oh! great mind's proud inscriptions! Who shall tell
What hand engraved those lines within that cell?
What heart yet steadfast while around him stood
Phantoms of death to chill his curdling blood,
C