Sonnet on Chillon

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 an altar--for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard!…