The Antiquity Of Freedom.

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     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,     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     With which the Roman master crowned his slave     When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,     Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand     Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,     Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred     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,     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,     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,     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     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     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,     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, wearing fair and gallant forms,     To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words     To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,     Twine round 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     Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by     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,     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.