Lines inscribed on the wall of a dungeon in the southern p of i
Though
not
a
breath
can
enter
here,
I
know
the
wind
blows
fresh
and
free;
I
know
the
sun
is
shining
clear,
Though
not
a
gleam
can
visit
me.
They
thought
while
I
in
darkness
lay,
'Twere
pity
that
I
should
not
know
How
all
the
earth
is
smiling
gay;
How
fresh
the
vernal
breezes
blow.
They
knew,
such
tidings
to
impart
Would
pierce
my
weary
spirit
through,
And
could
they
better
read
my
heart,
They'd
tell
me,
she
was
smiling
too.
They
need
not,
for
I
know
it
well,
Methinks
I
see
her
even
now;
No
sigh
disturbs
her
bosom's
swell,
No
shade
o'ercasts
her
angel
brow.
Unmarred
by
grief
her
angel
voice,
Whence
sparkling
wit,
and
wisdom
flow:
And
others
in
its
sound
rejoice,
And
taste
the
joys
I
must
not
know,
Drink
rapture
from
her
soft
dark
eye,
And
sunshine
from
her
heavenly
smile;
On
wings
of
bliss
their
moments
fly,
And
I
am
pining
here
the
while!
Oh!
tell
me,
does
she
never
give
—
To
my
distress
a
single
sigh?
She
smiles
on
them,
but
does
she
grieve
One
moment,
when
they
are
not
by?
When
she
beholds
the
sunny
skies,
And
feels
the
wind
of
heaven
blow;
Has
she
no
tear
for
him
that
lies
In
dungeon
gloom,
so
far
below?
While
others
gladly
round
her
press
And
at
her
side
their
hours
beguile,
Has
she
no
sigh
for
his
distress
Who
cannot
see
a
single
smile
Nor
hear
one
word
nor
read
a
line
That
her
beloved
hand
might
write,
Who
banished
from
her
face
must
pine
Each
day
a
long
and
lonely
night?
