And while that hopelessly he sees His course already death arrest, He feels his life’s best energies Beat strongly in his breast; And sees that friar, who calmly now Is laid, with sleep no more to strive, With age so feebly doom’d to bow, Tomorrow will survive. But hark! what noise the silence breaks This hour unseasonably by? Some one a gay guitar awakes And mirthful songs reply; And shouts are raised, and sounds are heard Of bottles rattling, and perchance Others, remember’d well, concurr’d Of lovers in the dance. And then he hears funereal roll, Between each pause in accents high, “Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul Of him condemn’d to die.” And so combined the drunkard’s shout, The toast, the strifes, and fancies wild Of all that Bacchanalian rout, With wanton’s songs defiled, And bursts of idle laughter, reach Distinct into the gloomy cell, And seem far off ejected each The very sounds of hell. And then he hears, funereal roll Between each pause, those accents high, “Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul Of him condemn’d to die.” He cursed them all, as one by one The impious echos each express’d; He cursed the mother as a son Who nursed him at her breast: The whole world round alike he cursed, His evil destiny forlorn, And the dark day and hour when first That wretched he was born. II. The moon serene illumes the skies, And earth in deepest stillness lies; No sound is heard, the watchdog’s mute, And ev’n the lover’s plaintive lute. Madrid enveloped lies in sleep; Repose o’er all its shade has cast, And men of him no memory keep Who soon will breathe his last. Or if perchance one thinks to wake At early dawn, no thoughts whate’er Rise for the wretched being’s sake, Who death is waiting there. Unmoved by pity’s kind control, Men hear around the funeral cry, “Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul Of him condemn’d to die.” Sleeps in his bed the judge in peace; And sleeps and dreams of how his store, The executioner, to increase; And pleased he counts it o’er. Only the city’s silence breaks, And destined place of death portrays, The harden’d workman who awakes The scaffolding to raise. III. Confused and mad his heated mind, With raving feverish dreams combined, The culprit’s soul exhaustion press’d, His head sunk heavy on his breast. And in his dreams he life and death Confounds, remembers, and forgets; And fearful struggling every breath, And sigh he gives besets.