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XIII.

I saw them—and they were the same,
They were not changed like me in frame ;
I saw their thousand years of snow
On high-their wide long lake below,
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow;
I heard the torrents leap and gush
O’er channell’d rock and broken bush;
I saw the white-wall’d distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down;
And then there was a little isle, 4
Which in my very face did smile,

The only one in view;
A small green isle, it seem'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,

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And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing,
Of gentle breath and hue.

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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
I had not left my recent chain ;
And when I did descend again,
The darkness of my dim abode

360 Fell on me as a heavy load ; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save, And yet my glance, too much opprest, Had almost need of such a rest.

370

XIV.
It might be months, or years, or days,

I kept no count-I took no note,
I had no hope my eyes to raise,

And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free,

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where,
It was at length the same to me,
Fettered or fetterless to be,

I learn’d to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd 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 watch'd them in their sullen trade,

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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 learn’d to dwell-
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are :-even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.

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SONNET.

Rousseau—Voltaire-our Gibbon—and de Staël

5 Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,

Thy shore of names like these, wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recall : To them thy banks were lovely as to all,

But they have made them lovelier, for the lore

Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core Of human hearts the ruin of a wall

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