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, forms of fair and gallant mien,
  To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words
  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
  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