315 My step profaned their lowly bed, XII. I made a footing in the wall, It was not therefrom to escape, 320 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 325 No partner in my misery; I thought of this, and I was glad, To my barred windows, and to bend XIII. I saw them and they were the same, 335 On high-their wide long lake below, 341. Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve, not far from Chillon, is a very small island; the only one I could perceive, in my voyage round and over the lake, within its cir Which in my very face did smile, A small green isle it seemed no more, 350 The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all; 355 As then to me he seemed to fly, I had not left my recent chain ; And yet my glance, too much oppressed, XIV. It might be months, or years, or days, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; 370 At last men came to set me free, cumference. It contains a few trees (I think not above three), and from its singleness and diminutive size has a peculiar effect upon the view. BYRON. I asked not why, and recked not where, I learned to love despair. 375 And thus when they appeared at last, SONNET ON CHILLON. ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 10 Chillon thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar for 't was 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. FARE THEE WELL. [Written in the spring of 1816, just after the separation from Lady Byron.] FARE thee well! and if forever, 5 Would that breast were bared before thee 10 Would that breast, by thee glanced over, "T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee — Though it smile upon the blow, 15 Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: 20 Though my many faults defaced me, Than the one which once embraced me, Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; 25 Still thine own its life retaineth 30 Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow And when thou would solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, 35 Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" Though his care she must forego? |