I.

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night,[3] As men's have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose,[b] 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,[4] and barred--forbidden fare; 10 But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death; That father perished at the stake For tenets he would not forsake; And for the same his lineal race In darkness found a dwelling place; We were seven--who now are one,[5] Six in youth, and one in age, Finished as they had begun, Proud of Persecution's rage;[c] 20 One in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have sealed, Dying as their father died, For the God their foes denied;-- Three were in a dungeon cast, Of whom this wreck is left the last.