II.
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here are seven pillars of Gothic mould,[6]In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,There are seven columns, massy and grey,Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 30A sunbeam which hath lost its way,And through the crevice and the cleftOf the thick wall is fallen and left;Creeping o'er the floor so damp,Like a marsh's meteor lamp:[7]And in each pillar there is a ring,[8]And in each ring there is a chain;That iron is a cankering thing,For in these limbs its teeth remain,With marks that will not wear away, 40Till I have done with this new day,Which now is painful to these eyes,Which have not seen the sun so riseFor years--I cannot count them o'er,I lost their long and heavy scoreWhen my last brother drooped and died,And I lay living by his side.
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