Date: 1878
— Then, from a rusted iron hook, A bunch of ponderous keys he took, Lighted a torch, and Allan led Through grated arch and passage dread.  Portals they passed, where, deep within, Spoke prisoner's moan ar.d fetters' din ; Through ragged vaults, where, loosely stored Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword, And many an hideous engine grim, For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, By artists formed, who deemed it shame And sir to give their work a name.  They halted at a low-browed porch, And Brent to Allan gave the torch, While bolt and chain he backward rolled, And made the bar unhasp its hold.