1565 1570 The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. CLXXV. But I forget. My Pilgrim's shrine is won, And he and I must part—so let it be: Yet once more let us look upon the sea; Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 1575 Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd 1580 CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades. Long years- Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run; 585 CLXXVII. Oh that the Desert were my dwelling-place, 1590 1595 1600 1605 1610 That I might all forget the human race, In deeming such inhabit many a spot, Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot? CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, To mingle with the Universe, and feel CLXXIX. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields 1615 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 1620 And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay. 1625 1630 1635 1643 CLXXXI. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. CLXXXII. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wash'd them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: - not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play; Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. CLXXXIII. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 1645 1650 1655 1660 Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy as I do here. my song hath ceased - my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. That which I have been - and my visions flit Less palpably before me and the glow 1665 Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. CLXXXVI. Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been A sound which makes us linger; - yet - farewell! 1670 Ye, who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene A thought which once was his, if on ye swell He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. NOTES. The Castle of Chillon completes the picturesque beauty of the crescent-shaped Lake of Geneva. The bright blue waters of the lake are surrounded by steep mountains, the lower slopes of which are vine-covered, while the summits cut the air in fantastic forms. At the end of the lake, the valley of the Rhone opens toward higher peaks, dimly seen and flashing with snow. The serrated Dent du Midi, however, closes the view from most points. The white castle, satisfying all ideals of a castle aroused by fairy-tale and romance, stands on a little island so close to the shore that it appears to project into the lake. People were apparently imprisoned here as early as the ninth century. François Bonivard, whose name Byron erroneously spelled Bonnivard, lived in the sixteenth century. Byron did not know much about him when he wrote the poem. He said later: "When this poem was composed, I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should have endeavored to dignify the subject by an attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues." The real Bonivard began life as a Roman Catholic and inherited from an uncle a rich priory near the city of Geneva, that carried with it the title of prior. He became, however, a reformer and an ardent republican. "As soon as I began to read the history of nations," he wrote, "I felt drawn by a strong preference for republics, the interests of which I always espoused." The Duke of Savoy opposed the liberties of Geneva, and Bonivard, especially in 1519, helped to defend the city from his attacks. In 1530 he fell for the second time into the power of the Duke, who imprisoned him in Chillon for six years. During the first two years he had fairly comfortable quarters; then "the Duke visited Chillon, and the Captain thrust me into a cell lower than the lake, where I lived four years. I had so little space for walking that I wore in the rock which was the pavement a little path or track |