That seemed, in later years, but made of air,
Are these the scenes that now my soul entrance,
Scenes hallowed in dim history and romance?
This dark old castle, with its wave-washed wall,
Its ancient drawbridge, and its feudal hall,
Its dreary dungeon, where the sweet sun's ray
Scarce tells the tenant that without 'tis day;
These seven grim pillars of the Gothic mould,
Where weary years the chainéd captive told,
Waited, and wept, and prayed for freedom sweet,