SONNET ON CHILLON ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is in the heart The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom And Freedom's fame finds wings and every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar for 't was trod, Until his very steps have left a trace, Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, May none those marks efface! By Bonivard! 1 For they appeal from tyranny to God. |