Background: The Albany Freeholder, an anti-rent newspaper, was published between 1845-1854. No page numbers were used. The identity of the Forest Minstrel is unknown.

(For the Freeholder.)

THOUGHTS IN PRISON.

A TRANSCRIPT.

“In these deep solitudes, and awful cells
Where heavenly, pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever musing melancholy reigns.”—POPE.

“We who so late, light on the comick course
Trod the gay round, and bade with laughter burst
Involuntary the thronged hills resound,
Now shut in prison glooms from the common air
And common use of our own limbs.
“Here holds despotick power
O’er trembling convicts his determined shaft.
Grim death itself, in all its horrors clad
Is man’s supremest privilege. It frees
The soul from prison, from foul sin, from wo,
And gives it back to glory, rest, and God!
When will its welcome message lay at peace
My burden’d breathing heart? But that shriek
Thrilling with dread; whence is it? ‘Tis the voice
Of female misery bursting through the crowd
To the lone dungeon; view that lovely form,
Decked in the neatest white, yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage! “Keep me not”
Raving, she cries—“Keep me not cruel from him.”
“He dies I fear, I know it; he’s conden’d—
“The dreadful Judge has done it. He must die,
“My husband; and I’m come, clad in my best
“To go and suffer with him! I have brought
“Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to show his corse
“Pale, pale, and speechless lies it! Husband come.
“The little infant, of our glad love,
“Smil’d on me as with parting breath I blest,
“And kiss’d the dear babe for thee—‘tis young,
“’Tis tender yet; seven months is young in life,
“Angels will guard my little innocent,
“They’ll feed it, tho’ could’st not find it food,
“And its poor mother too; and so thou diest!
“For me and it thou diest; but not alone,
“Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee,
“Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence.”
Impetuous then, her white arms round his neck
She threw, and with deep groans would pierce a rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh, the husband’s, father’s pangs,
Stopping all utterance! Up to heaven he rolled
His frantic eyes; and staring wildly round
In desperations’ madness; anguish unutterable.
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans!
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the Soul! “Merciful heaven
“In pity spare us! Say it is enough,
“And bid the avenging Angel stay his hand.”
Law, knows no mercy, and bars the plea.

THE FOREST MINSTREL.
 

Transcribed for this website by Terri Nan Treibits.