CXCIII.
TELL'S APOSTROPHE TO LIBERTY.
Once more I breathe the mountain air; once more
I tread my own free hills! My lofty soul
Throws all its fetters off; in its proud flight,
'T is like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing
Soars to the sun it long has gazed upon—
With eye undazzled. O! ye mighty race
That stand like frowning giants, fixed to guard
My own proud land; why did ye not hurl down
The thundering avalanche, when at your feet
The base usurper stood? A touch, a breath,
Nay, even the breath of prayer, ere now, has brought
Destruction on the hunter's head; and yet
The tyrant passed in safety. God of heaven!
Where slept thy thunderbolts?
O LIBERTY!
Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which
Life is as nothing; hast thou then forgot
Thy native home? Must the feet of slaves
Pollute this glorious scene? It cannot be.
Even as the smile of Heaven can pierce the depths
Of these dark caves, and bid the wild flowers bloom
In spots where man has never dared to tread;
So thy sweet influence still is seen amid
These beetling cliffs. Some hearts still beat for thee,
And bow alone to Heaven; thy spirit lives,
Ay,—and shall live, when even the very name
Of tyrant is forgot.
Lo! while I gaze
Upon the mist that wreathes yon mountain's brow,
The sunbeam touches it, and it becomes
A crown of glory on his hoary head;
O! is not this a presage of the dawn
Of freedom o'er the world? Hear me, then, bright
And beaming Heaven! while kneeling thus, I vow
To live for Freedom, or with her to die!
O! with what pride I used
To walk these hills, and look up to my God
And bless Him that it was so. It was free,—
From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free,—
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plow our valleys, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun!
How happy was I in it then! I loved
Its very storms! Yes, I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from His cloud, and smiled
To see Him shake His lightnings o'er my head,
And think! had no master save His own!
Ye know the jutting cliff; round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two abreast to pass? Overtaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just
Have wished me there,—the thought that mine was free,
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is THE LAND of LIBERTY!
J. S. Knowles.
CXCIV.
WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
Ye crags and peaks: I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands ye first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again!—O sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine,—whose smile
Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,
I'm with you once again!—I call to you
With all my voice!—I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!
—Scaling yonder peak,
I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss;—his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my brow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight
Of measuring the ample range beneath
And round about; absorbed, he heeded not
The death that threatened him. I could not shoot!—
'T was Liberty! I turned my bow aside,
And let him soar away!
J. S. Knowles.