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| THERE are seven pillars of Gothic mould, | |
| In Chillon’s dungeons deep and old: | |
| There are seven columns, massy and gray, | |
| Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, | |
| A sunbeam which hath lost its way, | 5 |
| And through the crevice and the cleft | |
| Of the thick wall is fallen and left; | |
| Creeping o’er the floor so damp, | |
| Like a marsh’s meteor lamp: | |
| And in each pillar there is a ring, | 10 |
| And in each ring there is a chain; | |
| That iron is a cankering thing, | |
| For in these limbs its teeth remain, | |
| With marks that will not wear away, | |
| Till I have done with this new day, | 15 |
| Which now is painful to these eyes, | |
| Which have not seen the sun so rise | |
| For years,—I cannot count them o’er, | |
| I lost their long and heavy score, | |
| When my last brother drooped and died, | 20 |
| And I lay living by his side. * * * * * | |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| 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. * * * * * | 40 |
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