THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN. 478 And the dark depths of nature heaved and Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around burst. He turned away-not far, but silent still. is wailing, For all have heard the misery." Alas! alas for Celin!" Him, yesterday, a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood 'Twas at the solemn jousting-around the nobles stood; And like it. Once again she raised her voice: prayer The less to them; and purer can there be bright and fair Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share; Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's But now the nobles all lament-the ladies are Each horseman grasping in his hand a black Upon their broidered garments of crimson and flaming torch: green and blue; THE FISHERMEN. Because he answered, and because "There is no law to say such things Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui! The king hath sent to have thee seized, Wo is me, Alhama! And to fix thy head upon Cavalier, and man of worth! Wo is me, Alhama! "But on my soul Alhama weighs, "Sires have lost their children, wives "I lost a damsel in that hour, And as these things the old Moor said, They severed from the trunk his head; And to the Alhambra's walls with speed T was carried, as the king decreed. Wo is me, Alhama! And men and infants therein weep 475 THREE fishers went sailing out into the west Out into the west as the sun went down; Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep; And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the light-house tower And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the rack it came rolling up, ragged THE PRISONER CF CHILLON. ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind! II. There are seven pillars, of Gothic mould, A sunbeam which hath lost its way, Brightest in dungeons, liberty, thou art, For there thy habitation is the heartThe heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned-Creeping o'er the floor so damp, To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless Like a marsh's meteor lamp; gloom Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon thy prison is a holy place, 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, And thy sad floor an altar-for 't was trod Which now is painful to these eyes, 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. I. My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears; And mine has been the fate of those Their belief with blood have sealed- For the God their foes denied; Of whom this wreck is left the ast Which have not seen the sun so rise III. They chained us each to a column stone; A grating sound-not full and free, 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 PRISONER OF CHILLON. The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him-with eyes as blue as heavenFor 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 naught but other's ills; And then they flowed like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the woe Which he abhorred to view below. V. The other was as pure of mind, With joy; but not in chains to pine. And so, perchance, in sooth, did mine! Had followed there the deer and wolf; 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, Which round about the wave enthrals; 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 knocked. And I have felt the winter's spray 477 Wash through the bars when winds were high, And wanton in the happy sky; And then the very rock hath rocked, VII. I said my nearer brother pined; VIII. But he, the favorite and the flower, Most cherished since his natal hour, |