There are seven[109] pillars of Gothic mould
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,
There are seven columns massy and gray,
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[110]: 35
And in each pillar there is a ring,
And in each ring there is a chain;
That iron is a cankering[111] 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 45
When my last brother drooped and died,
And I lay living by his side.