On Freedom.

Once I wished I might rehearse Freedom's pæan in my verse, That the slave who caught the strain Should throb until he snapt his chain. But the Spirit said, "Not so; Speak it not, or speak it low; Name not lightly to be said, Gift too precious to be prayed, Passion not to be exprest But by heaving of the breast; Yet,—would'st thou the mountain find Where this deity is shrined, Who gives the seas and sunset-skies Their unspent beauty of surprise, And, when it lists him, waken can Brute and savage into man; Or, if in thy heart he shine, Blends the starry fates with thine, Draws angels nigh to dwell with thee, And makes thy thoughts archangels be; Freedom's secret would'st thou know?— Right thou feelest rashly do.