O! the light of thine Eye is the beam that falls
Through the narrow grate, on the Dungeon floor,
To show the sad captive the strength of his walls,
And remind him of joys he must taste no more.
And that melting voice is Love's whispered breath,
By night through that grated casement stealing,
To rouse him from slumbers as heavy as death,
To hopeless wishes, and useless feeling.
But that voice is dear to his wasted heart,
And dear to his eye is that lonely ray;
Though they wound his bosom, he loves the smart,
Nor wishes for death, but when these are away.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.