I made a footing in the wall,
It was not there from to escape,
For I had buried one and all
Who loved me in a human shape;
And the whole earth would henceforth be A wider prison unto me:
No child, no sire, no kin had I,
No partner in my misery;
I thought of this, and I was glad,
For thought of them had made me mad; But I was curious to ascend
To my barr'd windows, and to bend Once more, upon the mountains high, The quiet of a loving eye.
I saw them—and they were the same. They were not changed like me in frame; I saw their thousand years of snow On high-their wide long lake below, And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush O'er channell❜d rock and broken bush; I saw the white-wall'd distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down; And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile,
The only one in view;
A small green isle, it seem'd no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing
Of gentle breath and hue.
The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seem'd joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast, Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seem'd to fly; And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled and would fain
I had not left my recent chain. And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode Fell on me as a heavy load; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save; And yet my glance, too much opprest, Had almost need of such a rest.
It might be months, or years, or days- I kept no count, I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise,
And clear them of their dreary mote. At last men came to set me free;
I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, It was at length the same to me, Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
I learn'd to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd at last, And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A hermitage-and all my own! And half I felt as they were come To tear me from a second home: With spiders I had friendship made, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill-yet, strange to tell! In quiet we had learn'd to dwell— My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are:-even I Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON
ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art,- For there thy habitation is 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 on every wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place
And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE
WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's in your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
THE ISLES OF GREECE
THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse: Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest.'
The mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations;-all were his! He counted them at break of day- And when the sun set, where were they?
And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now-
The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? (W) HC XLI
'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blest? Must we but blush?-Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopyla!
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no;-the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, 'Let one living head, But one, arise,-we come, we come!' 'Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain-in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble callHow answers each bold Bacchanal!
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gaveThink ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served but served Polycrates- A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
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