Page:Poems - Bryant (1854).djvu/341

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.
339

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,That stream with gray-green mosses; here the groundWas never trenched by spade, and flowers spring upUnsown, and die ungathered. It is sweetTo linger here, among the flitting birdsAnd leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and windsThat shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,A fragrance from the cedars, thickly setWith 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 capWith which the Roman master crowned his slaveWhen he took off the gyves. A bearded man,Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed handGrasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.