On Chillon / Lord George Gordon Byron

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!

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 consigned,

- 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 and 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.