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IV.

I was the eldest of the three,

And to uphold and cheer the rest I ought to do-and did my bestAnd each did well in his degree.

The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him-with eyes as blue as heaven,

For him my soul was sorely moved; And truly might it be distrest To see such bird in such a nest; For he was beautiful as day

(When day was beautiful to me As to young eagles, being free)A polar day, which will not see A sunset till its summer's gone,

Its sleepless summer of long light, The snow-clad offspring of the sun;

And thus he was as pure and bright, And in his natural spirit gay, With tears for nought but others' ills, And then they flow'd like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the wo

Which he abhorr'd to view below.

V.

The other was as pure of mind,
But form'd to combat with his kind;
Strong in his frame, and of a mood

Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,
And perish'd in the foremost rank

With joy:-but not in chains to pine:
His spirit wither'd with their clank,
I saw it silently decline-

And so perchance in sooth did mine;
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,

Had follow'd there the deer and wolf;
To him this dungeon was a gulf,
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.

VI.

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
From Chillon's snow-white battlement,3
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.
The dark vault lies wherein we lay,
We heard it ripple night and day;

Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd;
And I have felt the winter's spray

.

Wash through the bars when winds were high, And wanton in the happy sky;

And then the very rock hath rock'd,

And I have felt it shake, unshock'd,

Because I could have smiled to see
The death that would have set me free.

VII.

I said my nearer brother pined,
I said his mighty heart declined,
He loathed and put away his food;

It was not that 'twas coarse and rude,

For we were used to hunter's fare,
And for the like had little care :
The milk drawn from the mountain goat
Was changed for water from the moat,
Our bread was such as captive's tears
Have moisten'd many a thousand years
Since man first pent his fellow men
Like brutes within an iron den:
But what were these to us or him?
These wasted not his heart or limb,
My brother's soul was of that mould
Which in a palace had grown cold,
Had his free breathing been denied
The range of the steep mountain's side;
But why delay the truth ?—he died.
I saw, and could not hold his head,
Nor reach his dying hand-nor dead,
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He died-and they unlock'd his chain,
And scoop'd for him a shallow grave
Even from the cold earth of our cave.
I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay
His corse in dust whereon the day
Might shine-it was a foolish thought,
But then within my brain it wrought,
That even in death his freeborn breast
In such a dungeon could not rest.

I might have spared my idle prayer

They coldly laugh'd-and laid him there:

The flat and turfless earth above
The being we so much did love;
His empty chain above it leant,
Such murder's fitting monument!

VIII.

But he, the favorite and the flower,
Most cherish'd since his natal hour,
His mother's image in fair face,
The infant love of all his race,
His martyr'd father's dearest thought,
My latest care, for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free;
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural and inspired-
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was wither'd on the stalk away.
Oh God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood:-
I've seen it rushing forth in blood,
I've seen it on the breaking ocean
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed
Of Sin delirious with its dread:
But these were horrors-this was wo
Unmix'd with such-but sure and slow;
He faded, and so calm and meek,
So softly worn, so sweetly weak,

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So tearless, yet so tender-kind,
And grieved for those he left behind:
With all the while a cheek whose bloom
Was as a mockery of the tomb,
Whose tints as gently sunk away
As a departing rainbow's ray-

An eye of most transparent light,
That almost made the dungeon bright,

And not a word of murmur-not
A groan o'er his untimely lot,-
A little talk of better days,
A little hope my own to raise,
For I was sunk in silence-lost
In this last loss, of all the most;
And then the sighs he would suppress
of fainting nature's feebleness,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less:
I listen'd, but I could not hear-
I call'd, for I was wild with fear:
I knew 'twas hopeless, bnt my dread
Would not be thus admonished;
I call'd, and thought I heard a sound-
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
And rush'd to him;-I found him not,
I only stirr'd in this black spot,
I only lived-I only drew

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew:
The last-the sole the dearest link
Between me and the eternal brink,
Which bound me to my failing race,
Was broken in this fatal place.
One on the earth, and one beneath-
My brothers-both had ceased to breathe;
I took that hand which lay so still,
Alas! my own was full as chill;
I had not strength to stir, or strive,
But felt that I was still alive-
A frantic feeling, when we know
That what we love shall ne'er be so.
I know not why

I could not die,

I had no earthly hope-but faith, And that forbade a selfish death.

IX.

What next befel me then and there
I know not well-I never knew-
First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too :

I had no thought, no feeling-none-
Among the stones I stood a stone,
And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray:
It was not night-it was not day,
It was not even the dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy sight,

But vacancy absorbing space,
And fixedness-without a place;

There were no stars-no earth-no time

No check-no change-no good-no crime-
But silence, and a stirless breath
Which neither was of life nor death;
A sea of stagnant idleness,

Blind, boundless mute, and motionless!

X.

A light broke in upon my brain,-
It was the carol of a bird;
It ceased, and then it came again,

The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery;
But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track;

I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,

But through the crevice where it came
That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,
And seem'd to say them all for me!
I never saw its like before,

I ne'er shall see its likeness more:
It seem'd like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon's brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.
I know not if it late were free,

Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
But knowing well captivity,

Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine; Or if it were, in winged guise,

A visitant from Paradise;

For-Heaven forgive that thought! the while
Which made me both to weep and smile;

I sometimes deem'd that it might be
My brothers soul come down to me:
But then at last away it flew,
And then twas mortal-well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so downty tone,-
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone as a solitary cloud,

A single cloud on a sunny day,
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere,

That hath no business to appear

When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

XI.

A kind of change came in my fate,
My keepers grew compassionate,
I know not what had made them so,
They were inured to sights of wo,
But so it was :-my broken chain
With links unfasten'd did remain,
And it was liberty to stride
Along my cell from side to side,
And up and down, and then athwart,
And tread it over every part;
And round the pillars one by one,
Returning where my walk begun,
Avoiding only, as I trod,

My brothers' graves without a sod;
For if I thought with heedless tread
My step profaned their lowly bed,
My breath came gaspingly and thick,
And my crush'd heart fell blind and sick.
XII.

I made a footing in the wall,

It was not therefrom to escape,

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-no kin had I,

No partner in my misery;

I thought of this, and I was glad,
For thought of them had made me mad;
But I was curious to ascend

To my barr'd windows, and to bend
Once more, upon the mountains high,
The quiet of a loving eye.

XIII.

I saw them-and they were the same,
They were not changed like me in frame;
I saw their thousand years of snow
On high-their wide long lake below,
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow;
I heard the torrents leap and gush
O'er channell'd rock and broken bush;
I saw the white-wall'd distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down;
And then there was a little isle,4
Which in my very face did smile,
The only one in view;

A small green isle, it seem'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,
And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing
Of gentle breath and hue.

The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seem'd joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast,
Methought he never flew so fast
As then to me he seem'd to fly,
And then new tears came in my eye,
And I felt troubled-and would fain
I had not left my recent chain;
And when I did descend again,

The darkness of my dim abode
Fell on me as a heavy load;

It was as is a new-dug grave,
Closing o'er one we sought to save,
And yet my glance, too much opprest,
Had almost need of such a rest.

XIV.

It might be months, or years, or days,
I kept no count-I took no note,
I had no hope my eyes to raise,

And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free,

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where,
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter'd or fetterless to be,

I learn'd to love despair.

And thus when they appear'd at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:
With spiders I had friendship made,
And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill-yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell-
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are:-even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.

NOTES TO THE PRISONER OF CHILLON.

1.

rera encore la plus vive reconnaissance dans les By Bonnivard!—may none those marks efface! cœurs des Genevois qui aiment Genève. Bonnivard Page 183, line 13. en fut toujours un des plus fermes appuis: pour assurer la liberté de notre République, il ne craignit François de Bonnivard, fils de Louis de Bonni- pas de perdre souvent la sienne; il oublia son repos; vard, originaire de Seyssel et Seigneur de Lunes, il méprisa ses richesses; il ne négligea rien pour naquit en 1496; il fit ses etudes à Turin: en 1510 affermir le bonheur d'une patrie qu'il honora de son Jean Aimé de Bonnivard, son oncle, lui résigna le choix: dès ce moment il la cherit comme le plus Prieuré de St. Victor, qui aboutissoit aux murs de zelee, de ses citoyens; il la servit avec l'intrépidité Genève, et qui formoit un benefice considerable. d'un héros, et il écrivit son Histoire avec la naïveté Ce grand homme (Bonnivard merite ce titre par d'un philosophe et la chaleur d'un patriote. la force de son âme, la droiture de son cœur, la no- Il dit dans le commencement de son histoire de blesse de ses intentions, la sagesse de ses conseils, Genève, que, des qu'il eut commencé de lire l'histoire le courage de ses demarches, l'étendue de ses con-des nations, il se sentit entraîné par son goût pour les naissances et la vivacité de son esprit,) ce grand Republiques, dont il épousa toujours les intérêts: homme, qui excitera l'admiration de tous ceux c'est ce goût pour la liberté que lui fit sans doute qu'une vertu héroïque peut encore émouvoir, inspi-Jadopter Genève pour sa patrie.

Bonnivard, encore jeune, s'annonça hautement] comme le défenseur de Genève contre le Duc de Savoye et l'Evêque.

Ludovico Sforza, and others.-The same is asserted of Marie Antoinette's, the wife of Louis XVI. though not in quite so short a period. Grief is said to have the same effect: to such, and not to fear this change in hers was to be attributed.

3.

From Chillon's snow-white battlement.

En 1519, Bonnivard devient le martyr de sa patrie. Le Duc de Savoye étant entré dans Genève avec cino cent hommes, Bonnivard craint le ressentiment du Duc; il voulut se retirer à Fribourg pour en éviter les suites; mais il fut trahi par deux hommes qui l'accompagnoient, et conduit par ordre du Prince à Grolée où il resta prisonnier pendant deux Page 184, line 43. ans. Bonnivard étoit malheureux dans ses voyages: comme ses malheurs n'avoient point ralenti son zèle The Chateau de Chillon is situated between pour Genève, il étoit toujours un ennemi redoutable Clarens and Villeneuve, which last is at one expour ceux qui la menaçoient, et par conséquent il tremity of the Lake of Geneva. On its left are the devoit être exposé à leurs coups. Il fut rencontré entrances of the Rhone, and opposite are the heights en 1530 sur le Jura par des voleurs, qui le dépouil- of Meillerie and the range of Alps above Boveret lèrent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du and St. Gingo. Duc de Savoye: ce Prince le fit enfermer dans le Château de Chillon, où il resta sans être interrogé jusques en 1536; il fut alors delivré par les Bernois, qui s'emparèrent du Pays de Vaud.

Near it, on a hill behind, is a torrent; below it, washing its walls, the lake has been fathomed to the depth of eight hundred feet, (French measure;) within it are a range of dungeons, in which the Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivité, eut le plaisir early reformers, and subsequently prisoners of state, de trouver Genève libre et réformée; la République were confined. Across one of the vaults is a beam s'empressa de lui témoigner sa reconnaissance et de black with age, on which we were informed that le dédommager des maux qu'il avoit soufferts; elle the condemned were formerly executed. In the le recut Bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin 1536; cells are seven pillars, or rather, eight, one being elle lui donna la maison habitee autrefois par le half merged in the wall; in some of these are rings Vicaire-Général, et elle lui assigna une pension de for the fetters and the fettered: in the pavement 200 ecus d'or tant qu'il séjourneroit à Genève. Il the steps of Bonnivard have left their traces-he fut admis dans le Conseil de Deux-Cent en 1537. was confined here several years. Bonnivard n'a pas fini d'etre utile: appres avoir It is by this castle that Rousseau has fixed the travaillé à rendre Genève libre, il réussit à la rendre catastrophe of his Heloise, in the rescue of one of tolerante. Bonnivard engagea le Conseil à accorder her children by Julie from the water; the shock of aux Ecclésiastiques et aux paysans un tems suffi- which, and the illness produced by the immersion sant pour examiner les propositions qu'on leur is the cause of her death.

faisoit: il reussit par sa douceur: on prêche tou- The chateau is large, and seen along the lake for jours le Christianisme avec succès quand on le a great distance. The walls are white. prêche avec charité.

4.

And then there was a little isle.

Bonnivard fut savant; ses manuscrits, qui sont dans la Biblothéque publique, prouvent qu'il avoit bien lu les auteurs classiques latins, et qu'il avoit approfondi la théologie et l'histoire. Ce grand homme aimoit les sciences, et il croyoit qu'elles Page 186, line 16. pouvoient faire la gloire de Geneve; aussi il ne Between the entrances of the Rhone and Ville négligea rien pour les fixer dans cette ville nais-neuve, not far from Chillon, is a very small island; sante; en 1551 il donna sa bibliothèque au public; the only one I could perceive, in my voyage round elle fut le commencement de notre bibliothèque pub- and over the lake, within its circumference. It lique; et ces livres sont en partie les rares et belles contains a few trees, (I think not above three,) and éditions du quinzième siècle qu'on voit dans notre from its singleness and diminutive size has a pecucollection. Enfin, pendant la même année, ce bon liar effect upon the view. patriote institua la République son héritière à condition qu'elle employeroit ses biens à entretnir le college dont on projettoit la fondation.

Il paroit que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on ne peut l'assurer, parce qu'il y a une lacune dans le Nécrologe depuis le mois de Juillet 1570 jusques

en 1571.

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When the foregoing poem was composed I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should have endeavored to dignify the subject by an attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues. Some account of his life will be found in a note appended to the "Sonnet on Chillon," with which I have been furnished by the kindness of a citizen of that Republic, which is still proud of the memory of a man worthy of the best age of ancient freedom."

BEPPO;

A VENETIAN STORY.

Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; Look you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or i will scarce think that you have swam in a Gondola-As You Like It, Act IV. Sc. I.

Annotation of the Commentators.

That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what
Paris is not the seat of all dissoluteness.-S. A.

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"Tis known, at least it should be, that throughoutBut saving this, you may put on whate'er
All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,
The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,

However high their rank, or low their station,
With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,
And other things which may be had for asking.

II.

The moment night with dusky mantle covers

The skies, (and the more duskily the better,) The time less liked by husbands than by lovers Begins, and prudery flings aside her fetter; And gayety on restless tiptoe hovers,

Giggling with all the gallants who beset her; And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming, Guitars, and every other sort of strumming.

III.

And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical,
Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews,
And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical,
Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos;
All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical,

All people, as their fancies hit, may choose,
But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy,
Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers! I charge ye.

IV.

You'd better walk about begirt with briers,
Instead of coat and small-clothes, than put on
A single stitch reflecting upon friars,

Although you swore it only was in fun;
They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires
Of Phlegethon with every mother's son.
Nor say one mass to cool the caldron's bubble
That boil'd your bones, unless you paid them double.

You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak,
Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair
Would rig you out in seriousness or joke;
And even in Italy such places are,

With prettier name in softer accents spoke,
For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on
No place that's call'd "Piazzi” in Great Britain

VI.

This feast is named the Carnival, which being
Interpreted, implies "farewell to flesh:"
So call'd, because the name and thing agreeing,
Through Lent they live on fish both salt and fresh.
But why they usher Lent with so much glee in,
Is more than I can tell, although I guess
'Tis as we take a glass with friends at parting,
In the stage-coach or packet just at starting.

VII.

And thus they bid farewell to carnal dishes,

And solid meats, and highly spiced ragouts,
To live for forty days on ill-dress'd fishes,

Because they have no sauces to their stews,
A thing which causes many "poohs" and "pishes,"
And several oaths (which would not suit the Muse)
From travellers accustomed from a boy
To eat their salmon, at the least, with soy;

VIII.

And therefore humbly I would recommend

"The curious in fish-sauce," before they cross The sea, to bid their cook, or wife, or friend, Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gross, (Or if set out beforehand, these may send By any means least liable to loss,) Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey, Or, by the Lord! a Lent will well nigh starve ye;

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