On the Castle of Chillon

    Brightest in dungeons¹ Liberty！ thou art

    For there thy habitation is the heart—

    The heart which love of Thee alone can bind².

    And when thy sons to fetters³ are consign'd

    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 trace

    Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod

    By Bonnivard！ May none those marks efface⁴！

    For they appeal from tyranny to God.