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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538039" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Antiquity Of Freedom</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,<br>That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground<br>Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up<br>Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet<br>To linger here, among the flitting birds<br>And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds<br>That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,<br>A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set<br>With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades--<br>Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old--<br>My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,<br>Back to the earliest days of liberty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream,<br>A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,<br>And wavy tresses gushing from the cap<br>With which the Roman master crowned his slave<br>When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,<br>Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand<br>Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,<br>Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred<br>With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs<br>Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched<br>His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;<br>They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.<br>Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep,<br>And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,<br>Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound,<br>The links are shivered, and the prison walls<br>Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,<br>As springs the flame above a burning pile,<br>And shoutest to the nations, who return<br>Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy birthright was not given by human hands:<br>Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields,<br>While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him,<br>To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,<br>And teach the reed to utter simple airs.<br>Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,<br>Didst war upon the panther and the wolf,<br>His only foes; and thou with him didst draw<br>The earliest furrows on the mountain side,<br>Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself,<br>Thy enemy, although of reverend look,<br>Hoary with many years, and far obeyed,<br>Is later born than thou; and as he meets<br>The grave defiance of thine elder eye,<br>The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,<br>But he shall fade into a feebler age;<br>Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares,<br>And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap<br>His withered hands, and from their ambush call<br>His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send<br>Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms,<br>To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words<br>To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,<br>Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread<br>That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms<br>With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet<br>Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by<br>Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids<br>In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps,<br>And thou must watch and combat till the day<br>Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest<br>Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,<br>These old and friendly solitudes invite<br>Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees<br>Were young upon the unviolated earth,<br>And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,<br>Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a><div class=q>
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<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=538039" data-title="The Antiquity Of Freedom de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping sq..."></div>
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