By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; Thou found'st-and I forgive thee-here thou art- "But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 55 Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave; And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed 60 65 "This visage tells me that my doom is past; Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom? "The gods to us are merciful-and they 85 Yet further may relent; for mightier far Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast. M 90 "But if thou goest, I follow She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered; Brought from a pensive though a happy place. He spake of love, such love as spirits feel Of all that is most beauteous-imaged there 95 100 105 And fields invested with purpureal gleams, Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned That privilege by virtue.-" Ill," said he, "The end of man's existence I discerned, Who from ignoble games and revelry Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight, "And while my youthful peers, before my eyes, Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise By martial sports,—or, seated in the tent, Chieftains and kings in council were detained, What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. "The wished-for wind was given :-I then revolved The oracle upon the silent sea; 115 120 And, if no worthier led the way, resolved That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 125 Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. "Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife; On thee too fondly did my memory hang, And on the joys we shared in mortal life,— The paths which we had trod—these fountains,-flowers; "But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 'Behold, they tremble !—haughty their array, Yet of their number no one dares to die'?In soul I swept the indignity away : 130 135 Old frailties then recurred :—but lofty thought, "And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak Round the dear shade she would have clung-'tis vain : The hours are past,-too brief had they been years; Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, 155 Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, 160 Yet tears to human suffering are due; 165 As fondly he believes.-Upon the side From out the tomb of him for whom she died; 170 BYRON. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. I. My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those Proud of Persecution's rage; Their belief with blood have seal'd, Dying as their father died, For the God their foes denied ; Of whom this wreck is left the last. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 II. There are seven pillars of Gothic mould |