wind.

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15

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25

III

They chained us each to a column stone,
And we were three-yet, each alone:
We could not move a single pace,
We could not see each other's face,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight.
And thus together, - yet apart,
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart,
'Twas still some solace, in the dearth
Of the pure elements of earth,
To hearken to each other's speech,
And each turn comforter to each
With some new hope, or legend old,
Or song heroically bold;
But even these at length grew cold.
Our voices took a dreary tone,
An echo of the dungeon stone,

50

55

60

A grating sound, not full and free, 65 As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy, but to me They never sounded like our own.

IV

I was the eldest of the three,

And to uphold and cheer the rest I ought to do and did my best; And each did well in his degree.

The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him, with eyes as blue as heaven

For him my soul was sorely moved.
And truly might it be distressed
To see such bird in such a nest;
For he was beautiful as day

(When day was beautiful to me
As to young eagles, being free) -
A polar day, which will not see
A sunset til its summer's gone,

Its sleepless summer of long light,
The snow-clad offspring of the sun:

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75

80

85

V

The other was as pure of mind,

95

But formed to combat with his kind -
Strong in his frame, and of a mood
Which 'gainst the world in war had
stood,
And perished in the foremost rank
With joy - but not in chains to pine.
His spirit withered with their clank,
I saw it silently decline-

And so perchance in sooth did mine, 100
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Those relics of a home so dear.

He was a hunter of the hills,

Had followed there the deer and wolf; To him this dungeon was a gulf, And fettered feet the worst of ills.

VI

105

I said my nearer brother pined,

I said his mighty heart declined:

He loathed and put away his food;
It was not that 'twas coarse and rude,
For we were used to hunter's fare,
And for the like had little care-

130

140

The milk drawn from the mountain goat
Was changed for water from the moat,
Our bread was such as captives' tears
Have moistened many a thousand years, 135
Since man first pent his fellow men
Like brutes within an iron den:
But what were these to us or him?
These wasted not his heart or limb;
My brother's soul was of that mould
Which in a palace had grown cold,
Had his free breathing been denied
The range of the steep mountain's side.
But why delay the truth? - he died.
I saw, and could not hold his head, 145
Nor reach his dying hand, nor dead:
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He died—and they unlocked his chain,
And scooped for him a shallow grave 150
Even from the cold earth of our cave.
I begged them, as a boon, to lay
His corse in dust whereon the day
Might shine—it was a foolish thought,
But then within my brain it wrought, 155
That even in death his freeborn breast
In such a dungeon could not rest.
I might have spared my idle prayer -
They coldly laughed, and laid him there:
The flat and turfless earth above
The being we so much did love;
His empty chain above it leant,
Such murder's fitting monument!

VIII

160

170

But he, the favorite and the flower,
Most cherished since his natal hour, 165
His mother's image in fair face,
The infant love of all his race,
His martyred father's dearest thought,
My latest care, for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free,
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural or inspired
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was withered on the stalk away.
Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing

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191

And grieved for those he left behind;
With all the while a cheek whose bloom
Was as a mockery of the tomb
Whose tints as gently sunk away
As a departing rainbow's ray;
An eye of most transparent light,
That almost made the dungeon bright, 195
And not a word of murmur, not
A groan o'er his untimely lot, –
A little talk of better days,
A little hope my own to raise,
For I was sunk in silence— lost
In this last loss, of all the most.
And then the sighs he would suppress
Of fainting nature's feebleness,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less.
I listened, but I could not hear

I called, for I was wild with fear:
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonished:
I called, and thought I heard a sound
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
And rushed to him: - I found him not.
I only stirred in this black spot,
I only lived, I only drew

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew:
The last, the sole, the dearest link
Between me and the eternal brink,
Which bound me to my failing race,
Was broken in this fatal place.

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205

211

215

I know not well I never knew;
First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too.

I had no thought, no feeling — none:
Among the stones I stood a stone,
And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray:
It was not night, it was not day;
It was not even the dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy sight;
But vacancy absorbing space,

And fixedness without a place.

There were no stars, no earth, no time,

235

Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 But knowing well captivity,

Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!

Or if it were, in wingèd guise,

A visitant from Paradise;

240

For

245

No check, no change, no good, no crime,But silence, and a stirless breath

Which neither was of life nor death:

A sea of stagnant idleness,

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! 250

290

Which made me both to weep and smile-
I sometimes deemed that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 'twas mortal, well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so doubly lone,
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone as a solitary cloud,

A single cloud on a sunny day,
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere,
That hath no business to appear
When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

295

X

A light broke in upon my brain,
It was the carol of a bird;

It ceased, and then it came again,

The sweetest song ear ever heard; And mine was thankful, till my eyes Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery. But then by dull degrees came back My senses to their wonted track: I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before; I saw the glimmer of the sun

Creeping as it before had done.

But through the crevice where it came
That bird was perched, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,

My brothers' graves without a sod;

A small green isle, it seemed no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,
And by it there were waters flowing,

And on it there were young flowers growing,

Of gentle breath and hue.

The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seemed joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast,
Methought he never flew so fast
As then to me he seemed to fly;
And then new tears came in my eye,
And I felt troubled — and would fain

350

355

I asked not why, and recked not where: It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be,

I learned to love despair.

And thus when they appeared at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home.
With spiders I had friendship made,
And watched them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill - yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learned to dwell.
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are:- even I
Regained my freedom with a sigh.

PROMETHEUS (1816)

Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise — What was thy pity's recompense?

A silent suffering, and intense;

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