The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 4 | Page 9

pour Gen��ve, il ��tait toujours un ennemi redoutable pour ceux qui la mena?aient, et par cons��quent il devait ��tre expos�� �� leurs coups. Il fut rencontr�� en 1530 sur le Jura par des voleurs, qui le d��pouill��rent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du Duc de Savoye: ce Prince le fit enfermer dans le Chateau de Chillon, o�� il resta sans ��tre interrog�� jusques en 1536; il fut alors delivr�� par les Bernois, qui s'empar��rent du Pays-de-Vaud.
"Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivit��, eut le plaisir de trouver Gen��ve libre et r��form��e: la R��publique s'empressa de lui t��moigner sa reconnaissance, et de le d��dommager des maux qu'il avoit soufferts; elle le re?ut Bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin, 1536; elle lui donna la maison habit��e autrefois par le Vicaire-G��n��ral, et elle lui assigna une pension de deux cent ��cus d'or tant qu'il s��journerait �� Gen��ve. Il fut admis dans le Conseil des Deux-Cent en 1537.
"Bonnivard n'a pas fini d'��tre utile: apr��s avoir travaill�� �� rendre Gen��ve libre, il r��ussit �� la rendre tol��rante. Bonnivard engagea le Conseil �� accorder [aux eccl��siastiques et aux paysans] un tems suffisant pour examiner les propositions qu'on leur faisait; il r��ussit par sa douceur: on pr��che toujours le Christianisme avec succ��s quand on le pr��che avec charit��....
"Bonnivard fut savant: ses manuscrits, qui sont dans la biblioth��que publique, prouvent qu'il avait bien lu les auteurs classiques Latins, et qu'il avait approfondi la th��ologie et l'histoire. Ce grand homme aimait les sciences, et il croyait qu'elles pouvaient faire la gloire de Gen��ve; aussi il ne n��gligea rien pour les fixer dans cette ville naissante; en 1551 il donna sa biblioth��que au public; elle fut le commencement de notre biblioth��que publique; et ces livres sont en partie les rares et belles ��ditions du quinzi��me si��cle qu'on voit dans notre collection. Enfin, pendant la m��me ann��e, ce bon patriote institua la R��publique son h��riti��re, �� condition qu'elle employerait ses biens �� entretenir le coll��ge dont on projettait la fondation.
"Il parait que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on ne peut l'assurer, parcequ'il y a une lacune dans le N��crologe depuis le mois de Juillet, 1570, jusques en 1571."--[_Histoire Litt��raire de Gen��ve_, par Jean Senebier (1741-1809), 1786, i. 131-137.]
THE PRISONER OF CHILLON
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.
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.
III.
They chained us each to a column stone,?And we were three--yet, each alone;?We could not move a single pace, 50 We could not see each other's face,?But with that pale and livid light?That made us strangers in our sight:?And thus together--yet apart,?Fettered in hand, but joined in heart,[d]?'Twas still some solace in the dearth?Of the pure elements of earth,?To hearken to each other's speech,?And each turn comforter to each?With some new hope, or legend old, 60 Or song heroically bold;?But even these at length grew cold.?Our voices took a dreary tone,?An echo of the dungeon stone,
A grating sound, not full and free,?As they of yore were wont to be:?It might be fancy--but to me?They never sounded like our own.
IV.
I was the eldest of the three,?And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 I ought to do--and did my best--?And each did well in his degree.?The youngest, whom my father loved,?Because our mother's brow was given?To him, with eyes as