Sonnet on Chillon

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art!
For thy habitation is the heart--
The heart which love of thee alone can bind!
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd--
Thier country conqures with thier martyrdom,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,
And they sad floor and altar-- for 'twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace
Worn, as if they cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard!--May none those marks efface!
For they appeal from tyranny to God.

A short excerpt from Byron's greater piece of a "Prisoner of Chillon"