THE

PRISONER OF CHILLON, &c.

} SONNET ON 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 consigned-
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom,
Their country conquers with their martyrdom,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.

VOL. VI.

B

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.

THE

PRISONER OF CHILLON.

A FABLE.

I.

My hair is grey, but not with years,

Nor grew it white

In a single night, 2

As men's have grown from sudden fears :

B 2