The Leech was sent—but not in mercy—there,

To note how much the life yet left could bear;

He found enough to load with heaviest chain,

And promise feeling for the wrench of Pain;

To-morrow—yea—to-morrow's evening Sun 920

Will, sinking, see Impalement's pangs begun,

And rising with the wonted blush of morn

Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne.

Of torments this the longest and the worst,

Which adds all other agony to thirst,

That day by day Death still forbears to slake,

While famished vultures flit around the stake.

"Oh! water—water!"—smiling Hate denies

The victim's prayer, for if he drinks he dies.

This was his doom;—the Leech, the guard, were gone, 930

And left proud Conrad fettered and alone.