A little hope my own to raise,

For I was sunk in silence—lost200

200

In this last loss, of all the most;

And then the sighs he would suppress

Of fainting Nature's feebleness,

More slowly drawn, grew less and less:

I listened, but I could not hear;

I called, for I was wild with fear;

I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread

Would not be thus admonished;

I called, and thought I heard a sound—

I burst my chain with one strong bound,210

210

And rushed to him:—I found him not,

I only stirred in this black spot,

I only lived, I only drew

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew;

The last, the sole, the dearest link

Between me and the eternal brink,

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