To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left...
Hoekzema's Gleanings from English Poetry - Side 152
af David Hoekzema - 1893 - 334 sider
Fuld visning -