{"id":"01KG8AJNC78TDEV5WBYGJ6D2ZH","cid":"bafkreiboin3ax7rlhuofls7oij7ua4osqdtusbhm4engfzvotlbe7w24wm","type":"segment","properties":{"description":"# In the Prison Pen.\n## Overview\nThis is a segment of poetry titled \"In the Prison Pen.\" extracted from a text file and included in the poetry collection [Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9) The poem consists of six stanzas and is dated 1864.\n\n## Context\nThe segment is part of [Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9), a collection within the larger [Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW). The source text file for this segment is [battle_pieces_and_aspects_of_the_war.txt](arke:01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8). \"In the Prison Pen.\" is preceded by the poem [Sheridan at Cedar Creek.](arke:01KG8AJNC7QWJDH27T9PQWHVAM) and followed by [The College Colonel.](arke:01KG8AJNC6C80VZRJQSARV6H3B)\n\n## Contents\nThe poem \"In the Prison Pen.\" depicts the bleak existence of prisoners of war. It describes their listless state, vacant minds, and the physical suffering caused by the harsh environment. The poem evokes imagery of death and despair, highlighting the prisoners' emaciated condition and the ever-present specter of death.\n","description_generated_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:27.763Z","description_model":"gemini-2.5-flash-lite","description_title":"In the Prison Pen.","end_line":2468,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:35.910Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"In the Prison Pen.","source_file":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","start_line":2438,"text":"In the Prison Pen.\r\n(1864.)\r\n\r\n\r\nListless he eyes the palisades\r\n  And sentries in the glare;\r\n’Tis barren as a pelican-beach--\r\n  But his world is ended there.\r\n\r\nNothing to do; and vacant hands\r\n  Bring on the idiot-pain;\r\nHe tries to think--to recollect,\r\n  But the blur is on his brain.\r\n\r\nAround him swarm the plaining ghosts\r\n  Like those on Virgil’s shore--\r\nA wilderness of faces dim,\r\n  And pale ones gashed and hoar.\r\n\r\nA smiting sun. No shed, no tree;\r\n  He totters to his lair--\r\nA den that sick hands dug in earth\r\n  Ere famine wasted there,\r\n\r\nOr, dropping in his place, he swoons,\r\n  Walled in by throngs that press,\r\nTill forth from the throngs they bear him dead--\r\n  Dead in his meagreness.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r","title":"In the Prison Pen."},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9","peer_type":"poetry_collection","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AJNC7QWJDH27T9PQWHVAM","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AJNC6C80VZRJQSARV6H3B","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"next"}],"ver":3,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:38.887Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:28.133Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF5C36SQEVDHC9CBNZZJH9K"}}