Brightest in dungeons1 Liberty! thou art
For there thy habitation is the heart
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind2.
And when thy sons to fetters3 are consign'd
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 'twas trod
Until his very steps have left a trace
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod
By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface4!
For they appeal from tyranny to God.