ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

Freethought Review, Volume I, Issue 8, 1 May 1884, Page 8

ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground Wasjnever trenched by spade ; and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds, And leaping squirrels, wandring 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, immesurably old, — My thoughts go up to the long dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of Liberty. 0 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 ha* dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armourers, 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. Oh ! not yet! May'st 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, Those 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.— Bryant.