Prison cell . . . Around black columns
Reaching over with their shoulders;
On the window-bar sheer cobwebs
Flutter with the night-winds breathing.
Echo of the wind falls hither
With a groan, and long-drawn sighing
As if shadows of men slaughtered
Passed in haste across the chamber.
Echoes of the watchman's footsteps
Penetrate with deadened sound here,
As if dying heart had quivered
With its final struggling tempo.
Heavy head on chest reclining
All alone sits Roderigo;
Storm of thoughts his soul harrassing
As a boat tossed on an ocean.
Shame and love, with pain and anger,
Rays of hope and clouds of doubting,
Withered leaves of treasured mem'ries
All are twirling in a whirlpool
Round his heavy, tired forehead,
47
