Thrice, the great fadeless lights of heaven The moon, and the eternal sun As God's unchanging law was given, Have each their course appointed run. Three times the Earth, her mighty way Hath measured o'er a shoreless sea; While hopeless still from day, to day, I've sat in lone captivity; Listening the wind, and River's moan, Wakening my wild harp's solemn tone, And longing to be free. Blondel! my heart seems cold, and dead; [8] My soul, has lost its ancient might; The sun of chivalry is fled And dark despair's, unholy night Above me closes still and deep; While wearily each lapsing day Leads onward, to the last, long sleep; The hour when all shall pass away; When King, and Captive, Lord, and Slave Must rest unparted, in the grave A mass of soulless clay. O long I've listened to the sound, Of winter's blast, and summer's breeze, As their sweet voices sung around, Through echoing caves, and wind-waved trees. And long I've viewed from prison bars Sunset, and dawn, and night, and noon: Watched the uprising of the stars, Seen the calm advent of the moon: But blast and breeze and star, and Sun All vainly swept, all vainly shone, [9] I filled a living tomb. God of my fathers! Can it be? Must I, the chosen of thy might? Whose name alone, brought victory, Whose battle cry was God my Right Closed, in a Tyrant's dungeon cell, Wear out the remnant of my life? And never hear again, the swell Of high and hot and glorious strife Where trumpet's peal, and bugles sing, And minstrels sweep the martial string, And war, and fame are rife. No Blondel! thou wert sent by heaven, Thy King, thy Lion-King to free, To thee, the high command was given To rescue from captivity. Haste from the Tyrant Austrian's Hold, Cross rapidly the rolling sea, [10] And go, where dwell the brave, the bold, By stream and Hill and green-wood tree. Minstrel let merry England, ring With tidings of her Lion-King, And bring back liberty. Such was the lay, the monarch-minstrel sung, A few bright moons, waned from the silent heavens And Albion, with a shout of Triumph rung; As once again her worshipped King, was given Back to her breast, his bonds asunder riven And the Sweet Empress of the subject Sea Sent up her hymn of gratitude to heaven Through all her coasts she hailed him crowned and free The Champion of God's hosts The pride of liberty. Charlotte Brontë Dec^br 27^th 1833 Haworth n^r Bradford Transcriber's note