Three were in a dungeon cast, There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, There are seven columns, massy and gray, Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, A sunbeam which hath lost its way, And through the crevice and the cleft Of the thick wall is fallen and left; Creeping o'er the floor so damp, Like a marsh's meteor lamp; And in each pillar there is a ring, And in each ring there is a chain; That iron is a cankering thing, For in these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away, Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother droop'd and died, And I lay living by his side. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. For years 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 bow'd, 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 fare; Six in youth, and one in age, Proud of Persecution's rage; They chain'd us each to a column stone, A grating sound - not full and free It might be fancy — but to me But half our heavy task was done, retiring; gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, gory; not a stone But we left him alone with his glory. JOHN KEBLE. 1792–1866. (JOHN KEBle was born on St. Mark's Day (April 25), 1792, at Fairford, in Gloucestershire. He was elected Scholar of Corpus, Oxford, in his fifteenth, and Fellow of Oriel in his nineteenth year. After a few years of tutorship at Oxford and curacy in the country, he became Vicar of Hursley in Hampshire in 1839, where he continued to minister till his death in 1866. He was with Dr. Newman and Dr. Pusey regarded as forming the Triumvirate of the Oxford Catholic move. meni. His prose works consist of an elaborate edition of Hooker, a careful Life of Bishop Wilson, and various theological treatises. But it is as a poet much more than a scholar or a controversialist that he is known; and of his poetical works, the Lyra Innocentium, the Translation of the Psalter, a posthumous volume of Poems, and The Christian Year (1827), it is by the last that , he acquired an universal and undying fame in English literature. As Professor of Poetry at Oxford he wrote in Latin Praelections on Poetry, which are remarkable both for their subtlety and their exquisite Latinity. His Life was written by his friend Mr. Justice Coleridge.] THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT. [The Christian Inheritance.) SEE Lucifer like lightning fall, Dashed from his throne of pride; While, answering Thy victorious call, The Saints his spoils divide; too long, servants' wrong. Dead in the darkness lay, Among their fathers' tombs; at will, yine-clad hill; Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve, A gale from bowers of balm Sweep o'er the billowy corn, and heave The tresses of the palm, with gold, giants old; To trace the Heathen's toil, green, roses bright Wreathed o'er the cottage walls in gar lands of delight. And now another Canaan yields To Thine all-conquering ark; rose And cast their bonds away, gates, and told her gold. And when their wondrous march was o'er, And they had won their homes, Where Abraham fed his flock of yore, |