Like a marsh's meteor lamp:
And in each pillar there is a ring,
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,
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,
And I lay living by his side.

They chained us each to a column stone,
And we were three-yet, each alone;
We could not move a single pace,
We could not see each other's face,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight:
And thus together yet apart,
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart,
'Twas still some solace, in the dearth
Of the pure elements of earth,
To hearken to each other's speech,
And each turn comforter to each
With some new hope, or legend old,
Or song heroically bold;

But even these at length grew cold.
Our voices took a dreary tone,
An echo of the dungeon stone,

A grating sound, not full and free, As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy, but to me They never sounded like our own.

I was the eldest of the three,

And to uphold and cheer the rest I ought to do --- and did my best And 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 distressed 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,

Was changed for water from the moat, Our bread was such as captives' tears

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Have moistened many a thousand years, 135
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,

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To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He died, and they unlocked his chain,
And scooped for him a shallow grave
Even from the cold earth of our cave,
I begged 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 laughed, 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!

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I called, for I was wild with fear;

I knew 't was hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonished;

I called, and thought I heard a sound

I burst my chain with one strong bound, 210
And rushed to him: I found him not,
I only stirred 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

breathe:

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ceased

to

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No partner in my misery;

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I never saw its like before,

I ne'er shall see its likeness more:

It seemed 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,

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Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 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 deemed that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 't was mortal well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so doubly lone,
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

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 woe,
But so it was:- my broken chain
With links unfastened did remain,

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I thought of this, and I was glad,

For thought of them had made me mad;
But I was curious to ascend

To my barred windows, and to bend

Once more, upon the mountains high, 330
The quiet of a loving eye.

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 channelled rock and broken bush;
I saw the white-walled distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down;
And then there was a little isle,
Which in my very face did smile,

The only one in view;

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A small green isle, it seemed no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345
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.

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350

295

The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seemed joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast,

Methought he never flew so fast

When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

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As then to me he seemed 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;

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It was as is a new-dug grave,

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,

Closing o'er one we sought to save,

And yet my glance, too much opprest, Had almost need of such a rest.

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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 crushed heart fell blind and
sick.

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

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315

I asked not why, and recked not where; It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be,

I learned to love despair.

And thus when they appeared 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 watched 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 learned to dwell;
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are: even I
Regained my freedom with a sigh.

THE ISLES OF GREECE

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THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace,

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390

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.

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I dreamed that Greece might still be free;

I could not deem myself a slave.

A king sate on the rocky brow

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Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; all were his! He counted them at break of dayAnd when the sun set where were they? And where are they? and where art thou, 25 My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now

The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?"

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame,

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Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush? - Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla!

What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no;
the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, 'Let one living head, But one arise, we come, we come!' 'Tis but the living who are dumb.

In vain in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call-
How answers each bold Bacchanal!

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

We will not think of themes like these! It made Anacreon's song divine:

He served but served Polycrates A tyrant; but our masters then

Were still, at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades!

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