Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PRISONER'S RELEASE by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR

First Line: LO, IN THE EAST THE WAN MOON CLIMBS
Last Line: NOW I COME — I COME TO THEE!
Subject(s): DEATH; INQUISITION; PRISONERS OF WAR; VENICE, ITALY; YOUTH; DEAD, THE;
Among those who were thrown into the dungeons of Venice was a young girl
from the country, scarcely sixteen, who did not live to be put to the torture,
but was found dead upon the floor of her cell. — @3Records of the
Inquisition.@1

LO, in the east the wan moon climbs
Above the mellow minster chimes,
And wafted peal and light of stars
Come faintly through my prison-bars.
I cannot hear the dripping oar,
Nor boatman's call from off the shore,
Only, flooding the beach below,
I mark the sea-waves come and go;
And listen! From my dungeon-tower
The clock tolls out the midnight hour.
Oh, that my latest day were done,
And I the evening peace had won!
God of mercy! pity me!
Take me quickly up to Thee!

In dreams I've lived my childhood o'er
Since last the jailer shut the door;
Along the lofty Apennines
I saw again the dusky pines,
And heard the rush of snow-fed streams,
And caught the torrent's silver gleams.
From rock to rock the chamois sprung;
High in the blue the eagle hung;
And I felt the sweet wind over me blow
From vales where the orange and jasmine grow;
But dearer than hill or stream or tree,
Voices I loved were calling me!
I woke. The waning moon had risen,
And dimly shone athwart the prison;
My hair was damp with dungeon dew,
A chill breath crept the grating through,
And on my brain a weight was prest
And my heart beat slow in my aching breast —
Faint and slow as the waves that fall
With the ebbing tide below the wall.
Jesus! Lord! I cry to Thee!
By Thy woes, deliver me!

Hark! The chimes die soft away,
And soon will dawn another day;
Yet ere for watching eyes it shine
There will be darkness over mine,
And I shall sleep on the stony floor
The sleep that never will waken more!
More black and chill the dungeon grows;
Unheard, beneath, the sea-wave flows;
And fainter, slower, comes my breath, —
Can it be dying? Can it be death?
No! It is life! for the angels lean
Out of heaven to woo me there!
And listen! What do those voices mean,
Filling with music all the air?
Now in chorus they swell and rise,
Floating up to the ravished skies;
And now they warble so near, so near,
They bear me away to the blessed sphere!
God of love! O welcome me!
Now I come — I come to Thee!



Home: PoetryExplorer.net