II.

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould,[6] In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, There are seven columns, massy and grey, Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 30 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:[7] And in each pillar there is a ring,[8] 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, 40 Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years--I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother drooped and died, And I lay living by his side.