They chained us each to a column stone,
- yet, each alone; We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face, But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight : And thus together, — yet apart, Fettered in hand, but joined in heart, "T was still some solace, in the dearth Of the pure elements of earth, To hearken to each other's speech, And each turn comforter to each With some new hope, or legend old, Or song heroically bold;
But even these at length grew cold. Our voices took a dreary tone, An echo of the dungeon stone,
A grating sound, not full and free, As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy, — but to me They never sounded like our own.
I was the eldest of the three, And to uphold and cheer the rest
I ought to do, and did my best, And each did well in his degree..
The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him, with eyes as blue as heaven,
For him my soul was sorely moved; And truly might it be distressed To see such bird in such a nest; For he was beautiful as day -
(When day was beautiful to me As to young eagles, being free) A polar day, which will not see A sunset till its summer's gone,
Its sleepless summer of long light, The snow-clad offspring of the sun:
And thus he was as pure and bright, And in his natural spirit gay,
With tears for naught but others' ills, And then they flowed like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the woe
Which he abhorred to view below.
The other was as pure of mind, But formed to combat with his kind; Strong in his frame, and of a mood
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, And perished in the foremost rank
:- but not in chains to pine: His spirit withered with their clank,
I saw it silently decline,
And so perchance in sooth did mine:
But yet I forced it on to cheer Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,
Had followed there the deer and wolf;
To him his dungeon was a gulf, And fettered feet the worst of ills.
Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent From Chillon's snow-white battlement, Which round about the wave enthralls: A double dungeon wall and wave Have made, — and like a living grave Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies wherein we lay, We heard it ripple night and day;
Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high And wanton in the happy sky;
And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked,
Because I could have smiled to see
The death that would have set me free.
I said my nearer brother pined, I said his mighty heart declined, He loathed and put away his food; It was not that 't was coarse and rude, For we were used to hunter's fare,
And for the like had little care : The milk drawn from the mountain goat Was changed for water from the moat, Our bread was such as captives' tears Have moistened many a thousand years, Since man first pent his fellow-men Like brutes within an iron den ; But what were these to us or him? These wasted not his heart or limb; My brother's soul was of that mould Which in a palace had grown cold, Had his free breathing been denied The range of the steep mountain's side: But why delay the truth? - he died. I saw, and could not hold his head, Nor reach his dying hand- nor dead, Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. He died, and they unlocked his chain, And scooped for him a shallow grave Even from the cold earth of our cave. I begged them, as a boon, to lay His corse in dust whercon the day Might shine, it was a foolish thought, But then within my brain it wrought, That even in death his freeborn breast In such a dungeon could not rest. I might have spared my idle prayer, They coldly laughed, and laid him there: The flat and turfless earth above
The being we so much did love;
His empty chain above it leant, Such murder's fitting monument!
But he, the favorite and the flower, Most cherished since his natal hour, His mother's image in fair face, The infant love of all his race, His martyred father's dearest thought, My latest care, for whom I sought To hoard my life, that his might be Less wretched now, and one day free; He, too, who yet had held untired A spirit natural or inspired, - He, too, was struck, and day by day Was withered on the stalk away. O God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood:
I've seen it rushing forth in blood, I've seen it on the breaking ocean Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, I've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of Sin delirious with its dread; But these were horrors, this was woe Unmixed with such, but sure and slow; He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender- - kind, And grieved for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek whose bloom
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