My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are bann'd, and barr'd-forbidden fare; 10 But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death; In darkness found a dwelling-place; We were seven-who now are one, Finish'd as they had begun, Proud of Persecution's rage; One in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have seal'd; 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. II. grey, There are seven pillars of gothic mold, And in each ring there is a chain; 30 That iron is a cankering thing, With marks that will not wear away, When my last brother droop'd and died, III. They chain'd 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, 40 50 But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight; Fettered in hand, but pined in heart; To hearken to each other's speech, But even these at length grew cold. They never sounded like our own. IV. I was the eldest of the three, And to uphold and cheer the rest To see such bird in such a nest; 70 80 |