| |
| HERE are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, | |
| That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground | |
| Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up | |
| Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet | |
| To linger here, among the flitting birds, | 5 |
| And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds | |
| That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, | |
| A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set | |
| With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades— | |
| Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old— | 10 |
| My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, | |
| Back to the earliest days of liberty. | |
| |
| Oh FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream, | |
| A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, | |
| And wavy tresses gushing from the cap | 15 |
| With which the Roman master crowned his slave | |
| When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, | |
| Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailèd hand | |
| Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, | |
| Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred | 20 |
| With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs | |
| Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched | |
| His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; | |
| They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven. | |
| Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, | 25 |
| And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, | |
| Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound, | |
| The links are shivered, and the prison walls | |
| Fall outward: terribly thou springest forth, | |
| As springs the flame above a burning pile, | 30 |
| And shoutest to the nations, who return | |
| Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. | |
| |
| Thy birthright was not given by human hands: | |
| Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, | |
| While yet our race was few, thou sat’st with him, | 35 |
| To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, | |
| And teach the reed to utter simple airs. | |
| Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, | |
| Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, | |
| His only foes; and thou with him didst draw | 40 |
| The earliest furrows on the mountain side, | |
| Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, | |
| Thy enemy, although of reverend look, | |
| Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, | |
| Is later born than thou; and as he meets | 45 |
| The grave defiance of thine elder eye, | |
| The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. | |
| |
| Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, | |
| But he shall fade into a feebler age; | |
| Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, | 50 |
| And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap | |
| His withered hands, and from their ambush call | |
| His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send | |
| Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, | |
| To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words | 55 |
| To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, | |
| Twine around thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, | |
| That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms | |
| With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet | |
| May’st thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by | 60 |
| Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids | |
| In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps, | |
| And thou must watch and combat till the day | |
| Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest | |
| Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, | 65 |
| These old and friendly solitudes invite | |
| Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees | |
| Were young upon the unviolated earth, | |
| And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, | |
| Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. | 70 |
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