But even these at length grew cold. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 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 distrest To see such bird in such a nest; For he was beautiful as day- (When day was beautiful to me As to young cagles, 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 woe The other was as pure of mind, With joy but not in chains to pine: 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; Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A double dungeon wall and wave Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd; 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. I said my nearer brother pin'd, I said his mighty heart declin'd; He loath'd and put away his food; THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. The milk drawn from the mountain goat I might have spared my idle prayer- But he, the favourite and the flower, The infant love of all his race, He, too, was struck, and day by day He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender-kind, And griev'd for those he left behind; A little talk of better days, |