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Byron
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The Prisoner of Chillon by Byron is a publication of the Pennsylvania State University. This
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The Prisoner of Chillon by Byron, the Pennsylvania State University, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor,
Hazleton, PA 18201-1291 is a Portable Document File produced as part of an ongoing student
publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of
those wishing to make use of them, and as such is a part of the Pennsylvania State University’s
Electronic Classics Series.
Cover design: Jim Manis; [At Venice (1820) From a drawing by G. H. Harlow]
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
We heard it ripple night and day; Like brutes within an iron den;
Sounding o’er our heads it knock’d; But what were these to us or him?
And I have felt the winter’s spray These wasted not his heart or limb;
Wash through the bars when winds were high My brother’s soul was of that mould
And wanton in the happy sky; Which in a palace had grown cold,
And then the very rock hath rock’d, Had his free breathing been denied
And I have felt it shake, unshock’d, The range of the steep mountain’s side;
Because I could have smiled to see But why delay the truth?—he died.
The death that would have set me free. I saw, and could not hold his head,
Nor reach his dying hand—nor dead,—
I said my nearer brother pined, Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,
I said his mighty heart declined, To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He loathed and put away his food; He died—and they unlock’d his chain,
It was not that ’twas coarse and rude, And scoop’d for him a shallow grave
For we were used to hunter’s fare, Even from the cold earth of our cave.
And for the like had little care: I begg’d them, as a boon, to lay
The milk drawn from the mountain goat His corse in dust whereon the day
Was changed for water from the moat, Might shine—it was a foolish thought,
Our bread was such as captives’ tears But then within my brain it wrought,
Have moisten’d many a thousand years, That even in death his freeborn breast
Since man first pent his fellow men In such a dungeon could not rest.
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
It was not night—it was not day; I saw the dungeon walls and floor
It was not even the dungeon-light, Close slowly round me as before,
So hateful to my heavy sight, I saw the glimmer of the sun
But vacancy absorbing space, Creeping as it before had done,
And fixedness—without a place; But through the crevice where it came
There were no stars, no earth, no time, That bird was perch’d, as fond and tame,
No check, no change, no good, no crime And tamer than upon the tree;
But silence, and a stirless breath A lovely bird, with azure wings,
Which neither was of life nor death; And song that said a thousand things,
A sea of stagnant idleness, And seemed to say them all for me!
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! I never saw its like before,
A light broke in upon my brain,— I ne’er shall see its likeness more:
It was the carol of a bird; It seem’d like me to want a mate,
It ceased, and then it came again, But was not half so desolate,
The sweetest song ear ever heard, And it was come to love me when
And mine was thankful till my eyes None lived to love me so again,
Ran over with the glad surprise, And cheering from my dungeon’s brink,
And they that moment could not see Had brought me back to feel and think.
I was the mate of misery; I know not if it late were free,
But then by dull degrees came back Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
My senses to their wonted track; But knowing well captivity,
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine! I know not what had made them so,
Or if it were, in wingèd guise, They were inured to sights of woe,
A visitant from Paradise; But so it was:—my broken chain
For—Heaven forgive that thought! the while With links unfasten’d did remain,
Which made me both to weep and smile— And it was liberty to stride
I sometimes deem’d that it might be Along my cell from side to side,
My brother’s soul come down to me; And up and down, and then athwart,
But then at last away it flew, And tread it over every part;
And then ’twas mortal well I knew, And round the pillars one by one,
For he would never thus have flown— Returning where my walk begun,
And left me twice so doubly lone,— Avoiding only, as I trod,
Lone as the corse within its shroud, My brothers’ graves without a sod;
Lone as a solitary cloud, For if I thought with heedless tread
A single cloud on a sunny day, My step profaned their lowly bed,
While all the rest of heaven is clear, My breath came gaspingly and thick,
A frown upon the atmosphere, And my crush’d heart felt blind and sick.
That hath no business to appear I made a footing in the wall,
When skies are blue, and earth is gay. It was not therefrom to escape,
For I had buried one and all,
A kind of change came in my fate, Who loved me in a human shape;
My keepers grew compassionate; And the whole earth would henceforth be
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
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“The Prisoner of Chillon” – Byron
And yet my glance, too much opprest, And why should I feel less than they?
Had almost need of such a rest. We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
It might be months, or years, or days— Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell!
I kept no count, I took no note— In quiet we had learn’d to dwell;
I had no hope my eyes to raise, My very chains and I grew friends,
And clear them of their dreary mote; So much a long communion tends
At last men came to set me free; To make us what we are:—even I
I ask’d not why, and reck’d not where; Regain’d my freedom with a sigh.
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter’d or fetterless to be,
I learn’d to love despair. To read more Electronic Classics from
And thus when they appear’d at last, the Penn State series, go to our web
And all my bonds aside were cast, site:
These heavy walls to me had grown
http://www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/
A hermitage—and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
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To tear me from a second home: To return to our Byron site, go to:
With spiders I had friendship made http://www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/
And watch’d them in their sullen trade, byron.htm
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
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