Thou’rt gone; the abyss of heaven
  Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart
  Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
          And shall not soon depart.

          He who, from zone to zone,
  Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
  In the long way that I must tread alone,
          Will lead my steps aright.

* * * * *

From “The Antiquity of Freedom.”

=_339._= FREEDOM IRREPRESSIBLE.

  O 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.

* * * * *

From “Thanatopsis.”

=_340._= COMMUNION WITH NATURE, SOOTHING.

    To him who in the love of Nature holds
  Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
  A various language:  for his gayer hours
  She has a voice of gladness, and a smile,
  An eloquence of beauty, and she glides
  Into his darker musings, with a mild
  And healing sympathy, that steals away
  Their sharpness, ere he is aware.  When thoughts
  Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
  Over thy spirit, and sad images
  Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
  And breathless darkness, and the narrow house. 
  Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—­
  Go forth, under the open sky, and list
  To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—­
  Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,—­
  Comes a still voice.  Yet a few days, and thee
  The all-beholding sun shall see no more
  In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground. 
  Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
  Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
  Thy image.  Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
  Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
  And lost each human trace, surrendering up
  Thine individual being, shalt thou go
  To mix for ever with the elements,
  To be a brother to the insensible rock,
  And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain
  Turns with his share, and treads upon.  The oak
  Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.