Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,

To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.[f]

He died—and they unlocked his chain,

And scooped for him a shallow grave[15]150

150

Even from the cold earth of our cave.

I begged them, as a boon, to lay

His corse in dust whereon the day

Might shine—it was a foolish thought,

But then within my brain it wrought,[16]

That even in death his freeborn breast

In such a dungeon could not rest.

I might have spared my idle prayer—

They coldly laughed—and laid him there:

The flat and turfless earth above160

160

The being we so much did love;

His empty chain above it leant,

Such Murder's fitting monument!

VIII.

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