In Chillon's dungeons deep and old

The Prisoner of Chillon

by Lord Byron
(1788-1824)

(Find the full text HERE)

And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are bann'd, and barr'd - forbidden fare;


There are seven pillars of Gothic mould,
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,
There are seven columns, massy and grey,
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray,
A sunbeam which hath lost its way,


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,
And in each ring there is a chain;


Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls:
A thousand feet in depth below
Its massy waters meet and flow:


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;


I had no thought, no feeling - none -
Among the stones I stood a stone,
And was, scare conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and grey;


I saw the white-wall'd distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down;
And then there was a little isle,
Which in my very face did smile,


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.