Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rantoul</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day, along the electric wire<br>His manly word for Freedom sped;<br>We came next morn: that tongue of fire<br>Said only, 'He who spake is dead!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead! while his voice was living yet,<br>In echoes round the pillared dome!<br>Dead! while his blotted page lay wet<br>With themes of state and loves of home!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead! in that crowning grace of time,<br>That triumph of life's zenith hour!<br>Dead! while we watched his manhood's prime<br>Break from the slow bud into flower!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead! he so great, and strong, and wise,<br>While the mean thousands yet drew breath;<br>How deepened, through that dread surprise,<br>The mystery and the awe of death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the high place whereon our votes<br>Had borne him, clear, calm, earnest, fell<br>His first words, like the prelude notes<br>Of some great anthem yet to swell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We seemed to see our flag unfurled,<br>Our champion waiting in his place<br>For the last battle of the world,<br>The Armageddon of the race.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through him we hoped to speak the word<br>Which wins the freedom of a land;<br>And lift, for human right, the sword<br>Which dropped from Hampden's dying hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For he had sat at Sidney's feet,<br>And walked with Pym and Vane apart;<br>And, through the centuries, felt the beat<br>Of Freedom's march in Cromwell's heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He knew the paths the worthies held,<br>Where England's best and wisest trod;<br>And, lingering, drank the springs that welled<br>Beneath the touch of Milton's rod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No wild enthusiast of the right,<br>Self-poised and clear, he showed alway<br>The coolness of his northern night,<br>The ripe repose of autumn's day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His steps were slow, yet forward still<br>He pressed where others paused or failed;<br>The calm star clomb with constant will,<br>The restless meteor flashed and paled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Skilled in its subtlest wile, he knew<br>And owned the higher ends of Law;<br>Still rose majestic on his view<br>The awful Shape the schoolman saw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her home the heart of God; her voice<br>The choral harmonies whereby<br>The stars, through all their spheres, rejoice,<br>The rhythmic rule of earth and sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We saw his great powers misapplied<br>To poor ambitions; yet, through all,<br>We saw him take the weaker side,<br>And right the wronged, and free the thrall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, looking o'er the frozen North,<br>For one like him in word and act,<br>To call her old, free spirit forth,<br>And give her faith the life of fact,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To break her party bonds of shame,<br>And labor with the zeal of him<br>To make the Democratic name<br>Of Liberty the synonyme,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We sweep the land from hill to strand,<br>We seek the strong, the wise, the brave,<br>And, sad of heart, return to stand<br>In silence by a new-made grave!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, where his breezy hills of home<br>Look out upon his sail-white seas,<br>The sounds of winds and waters come,<br>And shape themselves to words like these.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Why, murmuring, mourn that he, whose power<br>Was lent to Party over-long,<br>Heard the still whisper at the hour<br>He set his foot on Party wrong?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The human life that closed so well<br>No lapse of folly now can stain<br>The lips whence Freedom's protest fell<br>No meaner thought can now profane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Mightier than living voice his grave<br>That lofty protest utters o'er;<br>Through roaring wind and smiting wave<br>It speaks his hate of wrong once more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Men of the North! your weak regret<br>Is wasted here; arise and pay<br>To freedom and to him your debt,<br>By following where he led the way!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420616" data-title="Rantoul de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="One day, along the electric wire
His manly word for Freedom sped;
We came next morn: that tongue of fire
Said only, 'He who spake is dead!'

Dead! while his voice was living yet,
In echoes round the pillared dome!
Dead! while his blotted page lay ..."></div>
</div>
</div>