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
Before the duomo 2 shuts; go in, And wait till Tenebræ 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,
As you the daughter of our land!"
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
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.
THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 1
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.
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