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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538061" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Hunter Of The Prairies</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies<br>Were never stained with village smoke:<br>The fragrant wind, that through them flies,<br>Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.<br>Here, with my rifle and my steed,<br>And her who left the world for me,<br>I plant me, where the red deer feed<br>In the green desert--and am free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For here the fair savannas know<br>No barriers in the bloomy grass;<br>Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,<br>Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.<br>In pastures, measureless as air,<br>The bison is my noble game;<br>The bounding elk, whose antlers tear<br>The branches, falls before my aim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mine are the river-fowl that scream<br>From the long stripe of waving sedge;<br>The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,<br>Hides vainly in the forest's edge;<br>In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;<br>The brinded catamount, that lies<br>High in the boughs to watch his prey,<br>Even in the act of springing, dies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With what free growth the elm and plane<br>Fling their huge arms across my way,<br>Gray, old, and cumbered with a train<br>Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!<br>Free stray the lucid streams, and find<br>No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;<br>Free spring the flowers that scent the wind<br>Where never scythe has swept the glades.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere<br>The heavy herbage of the ground,<br>Gathers his annual harvest here,<br>With roaring like the battle's sound,<br>And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,<br>And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:<br>I meet the flames with flames again,<br>And at my door they cower and die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, from dim woods, the aged past<br>Speaks solemnly; and I behold<br>The boundless future in the vast<br>And lonely river, seaward rolled.<br>Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;<br>Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,<br>And trains the bordering vines, whose blue<br>Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Broad are these streams--my steed obeys,<br>Plunges, and bears me through the tide.<br>Wide are these woods--I thread the maze<br>Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.<br>I hunt till day's last glimmer dies<br>O'er woody vale and grassy height;<br>And kind the voice and glad the eyes<br>That welcome my return at night.</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=538061" data-title="The Hunter Of The Prairies de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, w..."></div>
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