|
Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
contents
| previous
| next
THE SINGER IN THE PRISON.
1
O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! |
O fearful thought—a convict Soul! |
RANG the refrain along the hall, the prison, |
Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, |
Pouring in floods of melody, in tones so pensive, sweet
and strong, the like whereof was never heard,
|
Reaching the far-off sentry, and the armed guards, who
ceas'd their pacing,
|
Making the hearer's pulses stop for extasy and awe. |
2
O sight of pity, gloom, and dole! |
O pardon me, a hapless Soul! |
The sun was low in the west one winter day, |
When down a narrow aisle amid the thieves and out-
laws of the land,
|
(There by the hundreds seated, sear-faced murderers,
wily counterfeiters,
|
Gather'd to Sunday church in prison walls—the keep-
ers round,
|
Plenteous, well-arm'd, watching, with vigilant eyes,) |
Calmly a lady walk'd, holding a little innocent child
by either hand,
|
Whom, seating on their stools beside her on the plat-
form,
|
She, first preluding with the instrument, a low and
musical prelude,
|
In voice surpassing all, sang forth a quaint old
hymn.
|
View Page 95
|
3
THE HYMN.
A Soul, confined by bars and bands, |
Cries, Help! O help! and wrings her hands; |
Blinded her eyes—bleeding her breast, |
Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest. |
O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! |
O fearful thought—a convict Soul! |
Ceaseless, she paces to and fro; |
O heart-sick days! O nights of wo! |
Nor hand of friend, nor loving face; |
Nor favor comes, nor word of grace, |
O sight of pity, gloom, and dole! |
O pardon me, a hapless Soul! |
It was not I that sinn'd the sin, |
The ruthless Body dragg'd me in; |
Though long I strove courageously, |
The Body was too much for me. |
O Life! no life, but bitter dole! |
O burning, beaten, baffled Soul! |
(Dear prison'd soul, bear up a space, |
For soon or late the certain grace; |
To set thee free, and bear thee home, |
The Heavenly Pardoner, Death shall come. |
Convict no more—nor shame, nor dole! |
Depart! A God-enfranchis'd Soul!) |
4
One glance swept from her clear, calm eyes, o'er all
those upturn'd faces;
|
Strange sea of prison faces—a thousand varied, crafty,
brutal, seam'd and beauteous faces;
|
View Page 96
|
Then rising, passing back along the narrow aisle be-
tween them,
|
While her gown touch'd them, rustling in the silence, |
She vanish'd with her children in the dusk. |
5
While upon all, convicts and armed keepers, ere they
stirr'd,
|
(Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded pistol,) |
A hush and pause fell down, a wondrous minute, |
With deep, half-stifled sobs and sound of bad men
bow'd, and moved to weeping,
|
And youth's convulsive breathings, memories of home, |
The mother's voice in lullaby, the sister's care, the
happy childhood,
|
The long-pent spirit rous'd to reminiscence; |
—A wondrous minute then—But after, in the solitary
night, to many, many there,
|
Years after—even in the hour of death—the sad refrain
—the tune, the voice, the words,
|
Resumed—the large, calm Lady walks the narrow aisle, |
The wailing melody again—the singer in the prison
sings:
|
O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! |
O fearful thought—a convict Soul! |
contents
| previous
| next
|
| |