Not a grave of the murder’d for freedom, but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed,

Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains and the snows nourish.

Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose,

But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counselling, cautioning.

Liberty! let others despair of you! I never despair of you.

Is the house shut? Is the master away?

Nevertheless, be ready—be not weary of watching;

He will return soon—his messengers come anon.

The Dead to the Living

By Ferdinand Freiligrath