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.Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,And thy sad floor an altar--for 'twas trod,Until his very steps have left a traceWorn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,By Bonnivard!--May none those marks efface!For they appeal from tyranny to God.
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