A wild bush grows and hides my crypt;
She picked my glove up while she stripped
A branch off, then rejoined the rest
With that; my glove lay in her breast.
Then I drew breath: they disappeared:
It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown. Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me Rested the hopes of Italy;

I had devised a certain tale

Which, when 'twas told her, could not fail
Persuade a peasant of its truth;

I meant to call a freak of youth
This hiding, and give hopes of pay,
And no temptation to betray.

But when I saw that woman's face,
Its calm simplicity of grace,

Our Italy's own attitude

In which she walked thus far, and stood, Planting each naked foot so firm,

To crush the snake and spare the wormAt first sight of her eyes, I said,

"I am that man upon whose head
They fix the price, because I hate
The Austrians over us: the State
Will give you gold-oh, gold so much!-
If you betray me to their clutch,
And be your death, for aught I know,
If once they find you saved their foe.
Now, you must bring me food and drink,
And also paper, pen and ink,

And carry safe what I shall write

To Padua, which you'll reach at night

3

Before the duomo 2 shuts; go in,
And wait till Tenebræ 3 begin;
Walk to the third confessional,
Between the pillar and the wall,

And kneeling whisper, Whence comes peace?
Say it a second time, then cease;
And if the voice inside returns,

From Christ and Freedom; what concerns
The cause of Peace?-for answer, slip
My letter where you placed your lip;
Then come back happy we have done
Our mother service-I, the son,

Three mornings more, she took her stand
In the same place, with same eyes:
I was no surer of sunrise

Than of her coming. We conferred
Of her own prospects, and I heard
She had a lover-stout and tall,
She said then let her eyelids fall,
"He could do much"- -as if some doubt
Entered her heart, then, passing out,
"She could not speak for others, who
Had other thoughts; herself she knew":
And so she brought me drink and food.
After four days, the scouts pursued
Another path; at last arrived
The help my Paduan friends contrived
To furnish me: she brought the news.
For the first time I could not choose
But kiss her hand, and lay my own
Upon her head-"This faith was shown

2. Duomo. Cathedral.

3. Tenebrae. A service at which it is customary gradually to darken the church by extinguishing candles lighted at the beginning.

To Italy, our mother; she
Uses my hand and blesses thee."
She followed down to the sea-shore;
I left and never saw her more.

How very long since I have thought Concerning-much less wished for-aught Beside the good of Italy,

For which I live and mean to die!

I never was in love; and since

Charles proved false, what shall now convince
My inmost heart I have a friend?
However, if I pleased to spend

Real wishes on myself-say, three

I know at least what one should be.
I would grasp Metternich until

I felt his red wet throat distill

In blood through these two hands. And next
-Nor much for that am I perplexed-
Charles, perjured traitor, for his part,
Should die slow of a broken heart

Under his new employers. Last

-Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast
Do I grow old and out of strength.
If I resolved to seek at length
My father's house again, how scared
They all would look, and unprepared!
My brothers live in Austria's pay
-Disowned me long ago, men say;
And all my early mates who used
To praise me so—perhaps induced
More than one early step of mine-
Are turning wise: while some opine
"Freedom grows license," some suspect
"Haste breeds delay," and recollect

They always said, such premature
Beginnings never could endure !
So, with a sullen “All's for best,"
The land seems settling to its rest.
I think then, I should wish to stand
This evening in that dear, lost land,
Over the sea the thousand miles,
And know if yet that woman smiles
With the calm smile; some little farm
She lives in there, no doubt: what harm
If I sat on the door-side bench,
And, while her spindle made a trench.
Fantastically in the dust,

Inquired of all her fortunes-just
Her children's ages and their names,
And what may be the husband's aims
For each of them. I'd talk this out,
And sit there, for an hour about,
Then kiss her hand once more, and lay
Mine on her head, and go my way.

So much for idle wishing-how

It steals the time! To business now.

69

THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 1

LORD BYRON

I

My hair is gray, but not with years,
Nor grew it white

In a single night,

As men's have grown from sudden fears;
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon's spoil,
And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are banned, and barred—forbidden fare;
But this was for my father's faith
I suffered chains and courted death;
That father perished at the stake
For tenets 2 he would not forsake;
And for the same his lineal race
In darkness found a dwelling place;
We were seven-who now are one,
Six in youth, and one in age,
Finished as they had begun,

Proud of Persecution's rage;

One in fire, and two in field,

Their belief with blood have sealed:

1. François de Bonnivard, a French reformer, aided the Genevese against Charles III of Savoy. He was imprisoned in the Castle of Chillon, on the shores of Lake Geneva, Switzerland, for six years, 1530-1536. He had no brothers in prison with him. Byron has invented much of the story in the poem to intensify the picture, and thus make a stronger case against tyranny.

2. Tenets. Beliefs.