It she is in the grave, where he, Ber broken heart-my sever'd head — trusty and how tender were Ty youthful love— paternal care. Ta true that I have done thee wrong But wrong for wrong:- this deem'd thy bride, The know'st for me was destined long. And with thy very crime-my birth, Yet, were a few short summers mine, I had a sword—and have a breast build have won as haught1 a crest As ever waved along the line Of all these sovereign sires of thine. I will not plead the cause of crime, A few brief hours or days that must Twy could not, and they did not, last. İdam d to deck a thing like me— 1-t to my lineaments they trace Se features of my father's face, A my spirit— all of thee. īre thre—this tamelessness of heart — Fm thee-nay, wherefore dost thou start? — From thee in all their vigour came Mam of strength, my soul of flame — not give me life alone, haaghty-Away, haught man, thou art stataký zie. ' — SHAKSPEARE. w for Marmion," because it occurred to me, there a resemblance between part of Parisina and a in the second cauto of Marmion.' I fear there 1 wever thought of it before, and could hardly state that which is inimitable. I wish you would Gord wirther I ought to say any thing upon it. I @ jo led the story in the passage from Gibbon, which a vadā tā ā like scene naturally, without a thought of et cumes upon me not very comfortably." [ do Mr. M. Feb 3. 1816. — The scene referred to is which Constance de Beverley appears before the And we, all side by side, have striven, My life begun and ends the same: XIV. He ceased-and stood with folded arms, Would she thus hear him doom'd to die! Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, So large and slowly gather'd slid From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, It was a thing to see, not hear! And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes. To speak she thought—the imperfect note Or statue from its base o'erthrown, More like a thing that ne'er had life, A monument of Azo's wife, Than her, that living guilty thing, Which urged to guilt, but could not bear Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide- When midnight storms are mustering wrath. Or were they fiends who now so frown'd She strove with that convulsive dream; XV. The Convent bells are ringing, The song for the dead below, Or the living who shortly shall be so! The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll : With the block before and the guards around While the crowd in a speechless circle gather XVI. It is a lovely hour as yet Before the summer sun shall set, [The grand part of this poem is that which describes the execution of the rival son; and in which, though there is no pomp, either of language or of sentiment, and though every In penitential holiness, He bends to hear his accents bless Wipe our mortal stains away. That high sun on his head did glisten XVII. The parting prayers are said and over Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. In deep disdain were half renew'd, What were they in such an hour? No more reproach— thing is conceived and expressed with the utmost sin and directness, there is a spirit of pathos and poetry te it would not be easy to find many parallels-JLIS DE PARISINA. XVIII. Stil as the lips that closed in death, But yet, afar, from man to man, A cold electric shiver ran, As down the deadly blow descended On him whose life and love thus ended; And, with a bushing sound compress'd, Parced through with forced and sullen shock, Save one-what cleaves the silent air & madly shrill-so passing wild? That, as a mother's o'er her child, Dote to death by sudden blow, To the sky these accents go, Taugh Azo's palace-lattice driven, In mulier accents rose despair; XIX. Hago is fallen; and, from that hour, At least the knight's who died that day. But Parisina's fate lies hid Lke dust beneath the coffin lid: And won to heaven her dreary road, a beart that shared the headman's shock, cken'd brokenness that came, 1 pty, o'er ber shatter'd frame, Se knew-and none can ever know: Bere began and closed in woe! Train there is no tumult or stir. It is all sadness, rror. There is too much of horror, perhaps, aces; but the writing is beautiful throughout, XX. And goodly sons grew by his side; And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought The intersected lines of thought; Which the Soul's war doth leave behind. That they had wrought their doom of ill; If lopp'd with care, a strength may give, All greenly fresh and wildly free: The waving boughs with fury scathe, And never more a leaf reveals. and the whole wrapped in a rich and redundant veil of poetry, where every thing breathes the pure essence of genius and sensibility. JEFFREY.] The Prisoner of Chillon: A FABLE.1 SONNET ON CHILLON. ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 2 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar-for 't was trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, When this poem was composed, I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should have endeavoured to dignify the subject by an attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues. With some account of his life I have been furnished, by the kindness of a citizen of that republic, which is still proud of the memory of a man worthy of the best age of ancient freedom: "François de Bonnivard, fils de Louis de Bonnivard, originaire de Seysel et Seigneur de Lunes, naquit en 1496. I fit ses études à Turin: en 1510 Jean Aimé de Bounivard, son oncle, lui résigna le Prieuré de St. Victor, qui aboutis. sait aux murs de Genève, et qui formait un bénéfice considérable. "Ce grand homme- (Bonnivard mérite ce titre par la force de son âme, la droiture de son cœur, la noblesse de ses intentions, la sagesse de ses conseils, le courage de ses démarches, l'étendue de ses connaissances et la vivacité de son esprit), ce grand homme, qui excitera l'admiration de tous ceux qu'une vertu héroïque peut encore émouvoir, inspirera encore la plus vive reconnaissance dans les cœurs des Génévois qui aiment Genève. Bonnivard en fut toujours un des plus fermes appuis: pour assurer la liberté de notre République, il ne craignit pas de perdre souvent la sienne; il oublia son repos; il méprisa ses richesses; il ne négligea rien pour affermir le bonheur d'une patrie qu'il honora de son choix dès ce moment il la chérit comme le plus zélé de ses citoyens; il la servit avec l'intrépidité d'un héros, et il écrivit son Histoire avec la naïveté d'un philosophe et la chaleur d'un patriote. "Il dit dans le commencement de son Histoire de Genève, que dès qu'il cut commencé de lire l'histoire des nations, il se sentit entraîné par son goût pour les Républiques, dont il épousa toujours les intérêts: c'est ce goût pour la liberté qui lui fit sans doute adopter Genève pour sa patrie. "Bonnivard, encore jeune, s'annonça hautement comme le défenseur de Genève contre le Duc de Savoye et l'Evêque, "En 1519, Bonnivard devient le martyr de sa patrie. Le Duc de Savoye étant entré dans Genève avec cinq cent hommes, Bonnivard craint le ressentiment du Duc; il voulut se retirer à Fribourg pour en éviter les suites; mais il fut trahi par deux hommes qui l'accompagnaient, et conduit par ordre du Prince à Grolée, où il resta prisonnier pendant deux ans. Bonnivard était malheureux dans ses voyages: comme ses malheurs n'avaient point ralenti son zèle pour Genève, il était toujours un ennemi redoutable pour ceux qui la menaçaient, et par conséquent il devait être exposé à leurs coups. Il fut rencontré en 1530 sur le Jura par des voleurs, qui le dépouillèrent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du Duc de Savoye ce Prince le fit enfermer dans le Château de Chillon, où il resta sans être interrogé jusques en 1536; il fut alors delivré par les Bernois, qui s'emparèrent du Pays de Vaud. "Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivité, eut le plaisir de trouver Genève libre et réformée : la République s'empressa de lui témoigner sa reconnaissance, et de dédommager des maux qu'il avait soufferts; elle le reçut Bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin, 1536; elle lui donna la maison habitée autrefois par le Vicaire-Général, et elle lui assigna une pension de deux cent écus d'or tant qu'il séjournerait à Genève. Il fut admis dans le Conseil de Deux-Ćent en 1537. "Bonnivard n'a pas fini d'ètre utile: après avoir travaillé à rendre Genève libre, il réussit à la rendre tolérante. Bon By Bonnivard !— - May none those marks efface For they appeal from tyranny to God. The Prisoner of Chillon,' I. My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, 4 As men's have grown from sudden fears: nivard engagea le Conseil à accorder aux ecclésiastiques aux paysans un tems suffisant pour examiner les propositi qu'on leur faisait; il réussit par sa douceur: on préche to jours le Christianisme avec succès quand on le prèche a charité. "Bonnivard fut savant: ses manuscrits, qui sont dans Bibliothèque publique, prouvent qu'il avait bien lu les aute classiques Latins, et qu'il avait approfondi la théologie l'histoire. Ce grand homme aimait les sciences, et il cros qu'elles pouvaient faire la gloire de Genève; aussi il négligea rien pour les fixer dans cette ville naissante; en 15 il donna sa bibliothèque au public; elle fut le commencem de notre bibliothèque publique; et ces livres sont en par les rares et belles éditions du quinzième siècle qu'on voit da notre collection. Enfin, pendant la même année, ce bon triote institua la République son héritière, à condition qu'e employerait ses biens à entretenir le collège dont on proj tait la fondation. "Il parait que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on peut l'assurer, parcequ'il y a une lacune dans le Nécrol depuis le mois de Juillet, 1570, jusques en 1571." [Lord Byron wrote this beautiful poem at a small inn the little village of Ouchy, near Lausanne, where he happy in June, 1816, to be detained two days by stress of weathe thereby adding," says Moore," one more deathless ass ation to the already immortalised localities of the Lake," [In the first draught, the sonnet opens thus "Beloved Goddess of the chainless mind! 2 Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless glocm, Their country conquers with their martyrdom "] 3 ["I will tell you something about Chillon.' A Mr. Luc, ninety years old, a Swiss, had it read to him, and pleased with it so my sister writes. He said that be with Rousseau at Chillon, and that the description is fectly correct. But this is not all; I recollected someth of the name, and find the following passage in * The C fessions, vol. iii. p. 247. liv. viii. De tous ces amusem celui qui me plut davantage fut une promenade autour Lac, que je fis en bateau avec De Luc père, sa bru, ses d fils, et ma Therèse. Nous mimes sept jours à cette tour par le plus beau temps du monde. J'en gardai le vif sous. des sites, qui m'avaient frappé à l'autre extrémité du 1 et dont je fis la description quelques années après, dans Nouvelle Héloïse.' This nonagerian, De Luc, must be of the deux fils.' He is in England, infirm, but still faculty. It is odd that he should have lived so long, and wanting in oddness, that he should have made this voy with Jean Jacques, and afterwards, at such an interval, i a poem by an Englishman (who made precisely the same cumnavigation) upon the same scenery.". - Byron Len April 9. 1817. Jean André de Luc, F.R.S., died at W tud in the July following. He was born in 1726, at Geneva, the author of many geological works, and corresponded = most of the learned societies of Europe.] 4 Ludovico Sforza, and others. The same is asserted My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, And mine has been the fate of those Are bann'd, and barr'd-forbidden fare; Proud of persecution's rage; ? (re in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have seal'd; Fe the God their foes denied; of whom this wreck is left the last. II. There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, A bearn which hath lost its way, And in each ring there is a chain; Fin these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away, The I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years — I cannot count them o'er, I bet their long and heavy score, When my last brother droop'd and died, Ata I lay living by his side. The other was as pure of mind, With joy :- but not in chains to pine: And so perchance in sooth did mine: Had follow'd there the deer and wolf; VI. Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: Which round about the wave enthrals: Villeneuve, which last is at one extremity of the Lake of Geneva. On its left are the entrances of the Rhone, and opposite are the heights of Meillerie and the range of Alps above Boveret and St. Gingo. Near it, on a hill behind, is a torrent: below it, washing its walls, the lake has been fathomed to the depth of 800 feet, French measure: within it are a range of dungeons, in which the early reformers, and subsequently prisoners of state, were confined. Across one of the vaults is a beam black with age, on which we were in. formed that the condemned were formerly executed. In the cells are seven pillars, or, rather, eight, one being half merged in the wall; in some of these are rings for the fetters and the fettered in the pavement the steps of Bonnivard have left their traces. He was confined here several years. It is by |