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MRS. FRY AT NEWGATE PRISON.
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MRS. FRY AT NEWGATE PRISON.
The harsh key grated in its ward,
The massy bolts undrew,
And watchful men of aspect stern,
Gave us admittance through,
Admittance where so many pine
The far release to gain,
Where desperate hands have madly striven
To wrest the bars in vain.
What untold depths of human woe
Have rolled their floods along,
Since first these rugged walls were heaved
From their foundations strong;
Guilt, with its seared and blackened breast,
Fierce Hate, with sullen glare,
And Justice, smiting unto death,
And desolate despair.
