 | George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - English poetry - 1995 - 412 pages
...dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame fmds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor...sod, By Bonnivard! - May none those marks efface! Byron's sonnet is characteristic of his personal outlook and poetry in that it projects liberty as... | |
 | George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - Poetry - 1996 - 868 pages
...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...marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God. When this poem was composed, I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should... | |
 | Paula R. Feldman, Daniel Robinson - Literary Criticism - 2002 - 302 pages
...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...marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God. (1816) 300. 'Rousseau — Voltaire — our Gibbon — and de Stael' Rousseau — Voltaire — our Gibbon... | |
 | Paula R. Feldman, Daniel Robinson - English poetry - 1999 - 306 pages
...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... | |
 | Kieran Dolin - Literary Criticism - 2007 - 26 pages
...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 feet have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! — May none those marks... | |
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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... 
