New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1846-02-14
From the Albany Argus.
TIE PRISON CONVICT.
by ALBERT TRACY.

A RHYME TO weave! rhyme Tor one
By the world forgotten long,
A noble rhyme OF the son of Crime,
And his prison keep 30 strong.
And weave il well. that all may list,
And troll il loud and high.
With manacle link and gyve TO clink
In glorious symphony
The convict wight, with his crown all cropt,
And his garb quaint to see,
A marry life, in his fas,liness.
With his doughty feres hath he
Burglar and thief and he whose hand
Hath ludeless stain OF blood
Oh. these they are so fam TO he
OF his chosen brotherhood.
From dawn till dusk. the livelong dag.
How chcery up doth come
The busy MOL oil the trade he plies
So speechless all and dumb.
On bench, or loom, or the sounding forge,
He may choose whichever he deign
Nor lack of time. practice good
And skill in his craft TO gain.
A skill ay the keepers do but heed,
And yon gaudy sentinel.
Lest seized OF Il wood, or siedge, or blade,
He handled for once too well.
Day in. dav out-and he strives but more,
With the hum of the outer crowd,
The roll of wheels, and the laugh that come
On his toll go clear and loud.
Or say if he chance to faint sometimes.
Orto do his task seem 10th,
The lash, the LASH lis n wondrous thing,
And quickeneth well his sloih; toam'
And blood though it stream and his lip shed
His masters still are kind,
So soothing It's, the bullet they give.
In his rage to champ and grind
Who telleth Of night and his silent cell,
And the shapes that haunt him there
He may howl, may he not, and fright them
Nor yet need the keeper care forth,
Nor himself nor the guard need fear for him,
7 is time they well should know,
Those links less strong, those crates less firm,
He hath rent them long ago
Week after week-but merriest yet,
At Silly Sabbath fall,
Are The tales TO list, from the Chapel Priest
Of mercy and love for all:
He hesreth them out, as he need must choose,
But he warns with inward slee-
Who ever heard OF mercy yet,
Or love for such as he
The squaiid child, with hunger wild,
" no e'er for him bath heed
He got his ILL., US he best might do,
Or lied or stole nj need.
The lady, perchance that gave him pence,
"Be honest, now quoIh she word
How he ieered, in his haunts, at that stranger
And marveled what il might be
Fit school for him 10 learn of love,
The goal of his after day;
When yet had he wrought with will like that
He bore from its walls away
To rob, or stab. or the flame to light
No thousand men should Quel-
He did bur look 10 get hilher at last.
But he earned his guerdon well.
And the iron gate. and the wall of stone
And the scoargc piled well and oft.
With the bands that callous his limbs OF bone,
Shall they render his hear, more soft
They are merry. ,hen-aye, bi,hest of all.
The tales OF that baden sage; lack
AND he gains not his cell, bat he spits, good
For mirth, on his Bible page.
When Avarice ccasetb to rob the first,
When Virtue of Scorn is less,
w hen any bu, como in his earlier time,
w nh halt such sain,liuess-
Then less shall they need OF prison or priest,
Orr the Judge TO read his ban,
And the wight shall tame, that knew nor hope
Nor faith in his fellow man
Year after year, from the world away.
The toll and the whipman's thong;
Oh, merry time FOR the son of Crime
In his prison keep so s;rongl
Troll bigh the burden! bid dungeon deep
And cell give forth reply.
While manacIe link and gyve shall clink
lna glorious symphony
BgFaiO, Feb ., 1896.