On the Castle of Chillon

    Brightest in dungeons Liberty！ thou art

    For there thy habitation is the heart—

    The heart which love of Thee alone can bind.

    And when thy sons to fetters 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 efface！

    For they appeal from tyranny to God.