I.
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y hair is grey, but not with years,Nor grew it whiteIn a single night,[3]As men's have grown from sudden fears:My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,But rusted with a vile repose,[b]For they have been a dungeon's spoil,And mine has been the fate of thoseTo whom the goodly earth and airAre banned,[4] and barred--forbidden fare; 10But this was for my father's faithI suffered chains and courted death;That father perished at the stakeFor tenets he would not forsake;And for the same his lineal raceIn darkness found a dwelling place;We were seven--who now are one,[5]Six in youth, and one in age,Finished as they had begun,Proud of Persecution's rage;[c] 20One in fire, and two in field,Their belief with blood have sealed,Dying as their father died,For the God their foes denied;--Three were in a dungeon cast,Of whom this wreck is left the last.
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