Freedom Train (Part One)
The modest homes of the Borough of Queens
Are sturdy in their contrast to high Manhattan
Across which I saw drifting
The ashen smoke of the fallen towers
From this outpost of the city, a week after 'nine-eleven'
The tallest flagpole you could have imagined
Stands military-straight above a score of tollbooths
And the twelve lane thoroughfare of cars
Makes me feel like a visitor from a previous time -
But it's still that old union flag, however high it stands
Not a seat is empty on this sleek metal tube
That runs on its barely-subsidised tracks
Through a tiny stretch of the vast coastline
Stealing a peek at the brave Atlantic
A child concentrated on video games
Lends no mind to what her father sees. Around them,
Many tongues, ancestries, the faiths -
Fanaticisms held in check
By laws crafted for the needs
Of those who harness this diffusion
The airport which swallows the planes swooping low
Across the municipal towers of Newark
Is named for some primary notion of freedom -
But see, here is a passing Freedom Train
Gliding by the piles of industrial rage,
Seeking better ways and better days.
poem by Frank Bana
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Related quotes
Freedom Train Trilogy
Freedom Train...
The modest homes of the Borough of Queens
Are sturdy in their contrast to high Manhattan
Across which I saw drifting
The ashen smoke of the fallen towers
From this outpost of the city, a week after 'nine-eleven'
The tallest flagpole you could have imagined
Stands military-straight above a score of tollbooths
And the twelve lane thoroughfare of cars
Makes me feel like a visitor from a previous time -
But it's still that old union flag, however high it stands
Not a seat is empty on this sleek metal tube
That runs on its barely-subsidized tracks
Through a tiny stretch of the vast coastline
Stealing a peek at the brave Atlantic
A child concentrated on video games
Lends no mind to what her father sees. Around them,
Many tongues, ancestries, the faiths -
Fanaticisms held in check
By laws crafted for the needs
Of those who harness this diffusion
The airport which swallows the planes swooping low
Across the municipal towers of Newark
Is named for some primary notion of freedom -
But see, here is a passing Freedom Train
Gliding by the piles of industrial rage,
Seeking better ways and better days.
Train of State....
This train rides hard on buckled tracks
Through countryside so dark of late
Its owner's debt borne on its back
Its debtors all too profligate
Catch this train while best you can
During its long deceleration
Anticipate its sudden fall
Towards a deep degeneration
In service to an indigent nation
Consuming the loans of its eastern station
Secured by traded legislation
Without a brake on its destination.
Few hold great hopes for this railway system
Built by slaves of a penal condition
No-one predicts when the crash may happen
When the rates will soar and the misery deepen.
You boarded on time, the train relenting
To take on stocks. You rightly fear
You will not part so easily
Nor shed all your addictions here
Reassured by the strength of blind momentum
Plowing unrestrained across the plains
No plan on board for contingent moments
Only schedules of secret designs
The train a toy of moneyed ventures
Of who paid what to whom, and how -
Transactions in some currency
That shields them from detection now.
On pain of state investigation
I know I can't enquire, complain
Or claim the right to information
About the intent of this train.
Train of Dreams....
In the village called Mochudi, on the Kalahari fringe
Two sisters, Education Child and Miracle, carry their loads
Of elementary books beside the line of rail, climbing in neat grey uniforms
The hill to school. The single track
Awaits the daily train that hauls the sheep and goats
And owners to the north colonial lands
While in the dry warm hovering air
Infused by levitating specks of sand
Freedom is a perceptible dance
In the Pyrenees, carriages hug the snowy morning hills
Exhausted by the nightlong dash through redolent French fields
Now voices raise a chant in every silenced church
Invading like the lethal sunlight of a summer dawn.
The train descends for the embrace of Spanish plains,
The olive groves of Portugal, carnations from its windows strewn
And gathered by the thirsting wraiths
As the skirts of old Philadelphia unfold
The red-lined slums and drug-imprisoned zones
Snarl below the elevated track,
This line that finds its station
In a history of forgotten slaves, by the cracked bell of Liberty
Where Washington himself owned souls, where the Slave Trade Act
Of 1794 was passed in Congress, where African children
Apprehended from ships were indentured to education
And grew only to glimpse their freedom, to receive two suits of clothes,
One new, one old.
This train conveying dreams on every rack,
In every trunk, conceived by many minds,
Comes to halt in Pennsylvania, but remains primed,
While we its crew
In hope and servitude
Lay sleepers towards new frontiers and stoke
The engines of our dreams.
poem by Frank Bana
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The Tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 02: One, from his high bright window in a tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,—we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The City of God
CITY of God, how broad and far
Outspread thy walls sublime!
The true thy chartered freemen are,
Of every age and clime.
One holy Church, one army strong,
One steadfast high intent,
One working band, one harvest-song,
One King Omnipotent.
How purely hath thy speech come down
From man’s primeval youth;
How grandly hath thine empire grown
Of Freedom, Love, and Truth!
How gleam thy watchfires through the night,
With never fainting ray;
How rise thy towers, serene and bright,
To meet the dawning day!
In vain the surge’s angry shock,
In vain the drifting sands;
Unharmed, upon the Eternal Rock,
The Eternal City stands.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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A Bad Day In September
People woke up on a September day
Not knowing what price they would pay
The Twin Towers stood so tall
Who ever knew they would fall
Reaching high, up to the sky
People lived and people died
There was smoke, people screaming
What the heck, was I dreaming?
Planes hit the towers
In the early morning dawn
Everyone knew something was wrong
Chaos, confusion, aghast, looks of fright
Running screaming terror in sight
Where were you on the day?
Where you there?
Did you stop and stare?
Stare in shock?
Stare and scream?
People were fighting to get free
Families calling on the phone
Hoping to hear “I’ll be home”
Instead they heard
“I love you and goodbye”
Give my kids a kiss
And tell them they will be missed
Once twin towers
Now ground zero
We’d like to say
“Your our hero”
To all the hero’s
How brave you are
Risking your life
For one for all
We want to say
Thank you god bless!
You’re the best
People woke up on that September day
Not knowing what price they would pay
Our lives are forever changed
But are faith and freedom
Will stay the same
poem by Emmy Huffman
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Big City Bop
Welcome to New York City
City that never sleeps,
Bean counters everywhere,
All play for keeps,
Skinny women, high heel shoes,
Trottin' to the the top,
High steppin' broken glass,
Doin' the Big City Bop.
Sunny San Francisco,
See vet with one leg,
Exercising freedom of speech,
Exercising freedom to beg,
Shoutin' to the chic
Good luck reaching the top,
Sea of debris, bold and meek,
Doin' the Big City Bop.
Welcome to Dallas,
Pick-ups whizzin' by
Big oil, big flag,
Big buildings up to the sky,
Big time, big deal,
Big bottom to the top,
All buzzin' how they feel,
Doin' the Big City Bop.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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The Bell Of Freedom
Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Here the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.
There's a statue of a lady.In New York City.
Her torch burning bright, for the world to see.
Her meaning's just the same.She looks so pretty.
But nothing like the bell that rings so free.
Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.
There's a flag that flies.It holds the same meaning.
Those stars and stripes, just wave in the air.
This flag's got a name.It's called Old Glory.
This flag flies along.While we're ringing the bell.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.
Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world...
Patriotic-Song-Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2002,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Can you hear him?
Can you hear him whispering behind his window
Can you hear the rain tick against the glass ever so slow
To remind him that the rain hasn't stopped for years
But the pavement isn't drenched with water but with blood and tears
The revolution has started, and the mob is cold hearted
Can't distinguish friend from foe, nor those living or departed
All they see is rage and pain
So many different reasons to revolt, but their screams the same
Freedom … Freedom
This is the chant that reaches the sky
These are the words for which many will die
But the revolution doesn't care
So he stands behind his window with an empty glare
And he looks down upon the fighting, the gunshots and the hate
He looks down upon all those who want control over their own fate
They no longer want to rob, just so they can eat
No longer want to be scared walking down their own street
This isn't for oil, religious reasons or terrorists … No
This isn't for wealth, fame or recognition … No
They are fighting for peace
And until success the revolution will not cease
Until they have what they are screaming for
Nothing less and nothing more
Freedom … Freedom
So he stands behind his window, patiently waiting
Until those in power decide to share
Until those in power decide they care
Until they do Africa is bleeding
And with it the economy is dying
This is not rain this is a country crying
And the people are tired of drowning in these tears
Tired of waiting until the smoke clears
So they stand up strong and keep their heads high
If Africa is to be reborn, let it first die
That is the revolution that's why they fight
Trapped in darkness but there's a small piece of light
Freedom … Freedom
This is for that child that had to watch his family get shot
This is for that child that keeps watching the sky hoping for blessings to drop
His stomach is round, filled with nothing but air
And I won't waste your time asking if it's fair
But this is for that child that had to dropp out of school
No money to pay tuition but wants to go to school
The child that rather studies then plays and gets called a fool
Freedom of ignorance, knowledge its tool
So he stands behind the window, realizing he is dead
Shot in the head by the same revolution that said
This is for the people, and he was hoping it was a dream
But it isn't so he makes two fists and he wants to scream
Freedom … Freedom
But he doesn't, calmness comes over him
And he realizes one thing
The revolutions first step has finally been made
Sacrifices for freedom seems like a fair trade
So instead of screaming freedom he lifts his fist in the air and starts chanting a soft mantra
Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa,
Can you hear him?
poem by Vino Venitas
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My father described this tall lady who stands in the middle of the New York harbor, holding high a torch to welcome people seeking freedom in America. I instantly fell in love.
quote by Yakov Smirnoff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Driftwood
Oh come pity me, a poor mad sailor
Stranded on this love
Here I lie like driftwood, honey
Is this what i? ve become
I go high over, down under
At a lady? s will, under you
At a lady? s will
I? m drifting still
I? m drifting still
So I ask in fading innocence
And all my full rage
Will your hands still touch me
When my face has fallen in with age
I go high over, down under
At a lady? s will, under you
High over, down under
At a lady? s will, under you
At a lady? s will
I? m drifting still
I? m drifting still
High over, down under
At a lady? s will
High over, down under
At a lady? s will
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Stands Still For The Likes Of Me
Time stands still for the likes of me
Other than this moment, time does not exist
There is no past or future beyond this moment
Just this moment in time exists, and nothing more
The passage of time has no effect on me, ill or otherwise
I do no feel it's passing
It's comings and goings are lost on me
I am stuck - lost - in a timeless era
I do not seem to age, neither physically nor mentally
They say it is only 'natural' for my body to look and feel 'young'
It is merely my age that makes me feel this way
That it is only my youthfulness
But why, then, does my mind not age?
I have felt no progression on my part since grade school
I feel as though the past ten years did not exist
Middle school and high school are a blur to me
No real memories or recollection of that time in my past
I have nothing to prove it ever existed, save for the passing of time
Yes, time has stopped for me
My memory is at a standstill
I have a brain freeze that has lasted nearly a decade
I look no older than a 15 year old girl
A high school sophomore
And I carry virtually the same mentality
Time stands still for the likes of me
poem by DiAnne Douglass
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An Open Letter To NYC
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
Brownstones, water towers, trees, skyscrapers
Writers, prize fighters and Wall Street traders
We come together on the subway cars
Diversity unified, whoever you are
We're doing fine on the One and Nine line
On the L we're doin' swell
On the number Ten bus we fight and fuss
'Cause we're thorough in the boroughs and that's a must
I remember when the Duece was all porno flicks
Running home after school to play PIX * 1
At lunch I'd go to Blimpies down on Montague Street
And hit the Fulton Street Mall for the sneakers on my feet
Dear New York I hope you're doing well
I know a lot's happen and you've been through hell
So, we give thanks for providing a home
Through your gates at Ellis Island we passed in droves
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
The L.I.E. the B.Q.E
Hippies at the band shell with the L.S.D.
Get my BVD's from VIM
You know I'm reppin' Manhattan the best I can
Stopped off at Bleeker Bob's got thrown out
Sneakin' in at 4:00 am after going out
You didn't rob me in the park at Dianna Ross
But everybody started looting when the light went off
From the South South Bronx on out to Queens Bridge
From Hollis Queens right down to Bay Ridge
From Castle Hill to the Lower East Side
From 1010 WINS to Live At Five
Dear New York this is a love letter
To you and how you brought us together
We can't say enough about all you do
'Cause in the city were ourselves and electric too
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
Shout out the South Bronx where my mom hails from
Right next to High Bridge across from Harlem
To the Grand Concourse where my mom and dad met
Before they moved on down to the Upper West
I see you're still strong after all that's gone on
Life long we dedicate this song
Just a little something to show some respect
To the city that blends and mends and tests
Since 911 we're still livin'
And lovin' life we've been given
Ain't nothing gonna take that away from us
Were lookin' pretty and gritty 'cause in the city we trust
Dear New York I know a lot has changed
2 towers down but you're still in the game
Home to many rejecting know one
Accepting peoples of all places, wherever they're from
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom
Out in the South Atlantic
Our brave men go
To fight for peace and freedom
Against a hidden foe With ships and planes they sail the sea
In freedom for the world to see
Our hearts and prayers with them go out
Till peace at last we'll hear them shout Long days and nights on icy lands
The British men now withstands
The bombing raids and missiles too
Fighting for the likes of me and you God Bless you one and all I say
Your fight for freedom be not delayed
And when again once more you come
Back home again your job well done *written at the beginning of the Falklands War
poem by Lilian Nash
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Land of the Free (c) 3-29-08
Land of the Free home of the brave
Land of disease home of the slave
Freedom of religion Freedom of speech
Freedom of press and freedom to breach
Freedom to steal freedom to take
Freedom to carry guns and Freedom to break
The laws of the man and the laws of the word
Freedom from peace but to still use the bird
The only home of brave and Land of the Free
The land who rules based off democracy
Freedom to starve and Freedom to be poor
Freedom to break and enter someone’s door
Freedom to lay off workers and close off jobs
Freedom to take what they want and to rob
Freedom of abortion Freedom of extortion
Freedom to own land and give everyone their portion
Freedom for action by any means necessary
But what their picture of that can really be scary
Freedom to wage war without our consent for our hours to be spent
Freedom to take our money then make us pay rent
Land of the prospering riches and of those who don’t care for the
People who live in the FREE old America
Copyright 3-29-08 ©® Corey Threet
PLEASE COMMENT!
poem by Corey Threet
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At Last Uhuru! !
Long ago, was it diagnosed
Yet, to prove it took time.
With a single sentence
I was sentenced to freedom.
Freedom from expecting love
When there was only like
Freedom from seeking a life union
While a day long glance was offered
Freedom from giving so much
To receive so little
Freedom from suspense and anxiety
While away ebbed my confidence
Freedom from grabbing the non-existent
When nothing was the existent
Freedom from building on an illusion, well clad
When reality was a truth, stark naked
Freedom to paddle elsewhere my canoe
and fish my catch.
FREEDOM AT LAST! Uhuru! !
03/05/99
poem by Ike Bismarck Oji
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Birds Never Sang Or Flew
The dawn awoke one morning
to start a day brand new
but there was something wrong
outside no birds sang or flew.
The skies that normally teamed with life
on the day before
now fell silent empty and abandoned
by all that flew there.
While in a great city
twin towers crumpled into dust,
its plumes of agony stretched
high up in the air for the world to see
that a new demon with a cancerous soul
was about to scourge the earth
to corrupt others to follow him
into the damnation of hell.
Was this the Armageddon that was prophesied,
in which the world as we know it died?
As the tentacles of this demon,
who dressed as a man
stretched around the world
penetrating every land.
Hence, the battle of good against evil began
in the day of infamy known simply as 9/11.
In the days that followed as no planes flew,
no birds sang or took to the skies
as if in a mark of respect from them to
for those who had fallen
in this demons evil plan.
13 October 2009
Author’s note:
Following the horror of 9/11 when all the planes around the world were grounded a strange phenomena occurred. For all the time the planes were grounded the world seemed absent of birds. My late brother brought it to my attention and when I looked, he was right. I did not see or hear a bird until the planes few again.
poem by David Harris
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Running To My Freedom
Writers: johnny vastano & tom snow
You should have been there when I gave the news
I know you would have been surprised to see
The smoke and the fire that was comin out of me
Now that Ive finally shaken you loose
And I have cut the chains that held me back
Feelin more and more like a train rolling down the track
Running to my freedom
I aint never gonna give it back
Me and my freedom, from now on
One of these days its gonna happen to you
Youre gonna find yourself in love so deep
That you would give up anything for that love to keep
Then sooner or later it will break down on you
And when you finally feel all the hurt inside
You will understand the reason why I cried
Running to my freedom
I aint never gonna give it back
Me and my freedom, from now on
And why I took my freedom
I aint never gonna give it back
Me and my freedom, from now on
Running to my freedom
I aint never gonna give it back
Me and my freedom, from now on
Now that Ive finally shaken you loose
And I have cut the chains that held me back
Feelin more and more like a train rolling down the track
Running to my freedom
I aint never gonna give it back
Me and my freedom, from now on
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Train Improvisation 04 02 2004
HOME TRAIN:
Improvisation Number 01 24 04
From city light horizons she is going to become my day-lady
rising too soon sprung spouting with tulips and the early spring
on the home train my heart beats fiddle bass tones and sings
desperate reasoning in the heart: why her whole body stands on
my soul softly resting upon that generation of secret separate trusts
intended in the passing smile for the joy of being alive being alive
for just one more day from distant light horizons on the home train
from distant city light horizons my city leaves me with my lady
my joy on the home train to soon sprung early tulips crocus in
the rain in the solar fun my lady to soon sprung in the early spring
all rise to spread the joy and join the fun on the home train for just
one more day from distant light horizons my city leaves me with
my lady on the home train to soon my heartbeats fiddle bass tones
and sings she is too soon sprung joyously into spring my heart beat
sings for her whole body stands on my soul softly resting in my joy
time is passing rapaciously through the night passing city after city
the home train races out of light horizons sucking my city away
fading into the rhythm of the blues quietly my lady to soon sprung
begins to make her midnight move joyously leaping into spring
blooming with the rising sun with tulips and the joy of passing time
rapaciously through the night I will hold her softly for nothing more
than the repetitious passing of time while she will hold me too; city
after city the home train races out of light horizons onto spirit lifted
tracks with my lady to soon sprung from city light horizons on
the home train from distant light horizons the city leaves a mellow
glowing cinder each time I leave her she is the love that draws me
back; city after city now nearer home where my love to soon sprung
in springs come and gone she is my wife my mistress my platonic
friend city after city wherever she lets me in; she’s with me every day
she sits with me on the home train she sits a seat away at the cinema
on the benches in the park in the lobby the dining and the sleeping car
the lounge and café I sleep where the memories stay -on the home train.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permission.
poem by Lee B Mack
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High In The City
I got the time, I got my feet
Lets go hit the street
High in the city
High in the city
I got my mace and you got your knife
You gotta protect your own life
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive here in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
Lets not walk down sutton place
You know everybody there got an akitas
High in the city
High in the city
Dont wanna talk politics today
I feel too good let me have my way
High in the city
High in the city
Watch out for that guy on your right
Seen him on the news last saturday night
He was high in the city
High in the city
Hey, look theyre setting fire to that jeep
Theres not much you can keep
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
So many people feeling low
And theres only one way to go to
Get high in the city
High in the city
Lets grap a pie, lets hit the park
Ill kiss and hug you till it gets dark
Here in the city
Getting high in the city
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode VII: On The Use Of Poetry
I.
Not for themselves did human kind
Contrive the parts by heaven assign'd
On life's wide scene to play:
Not Scipio's force, nor Cæsar's skill
Can conquer glory's arduous hill,
If fortune close the way.
II.
Yet still the self-depending soul,
Though last and least in fortune's roll,
His proper sphere commands;
And knows what nature's seal bestow'd,
And sees, before the throne of God,
The rank in which he stands.
III.
Who train'd by laws the future age,
Who rescu'd nations from the rage
Of partial, factious power,
My heart with distant homage views;
Content if thou, celestial Muse,
Did'st rule my natal hour.
IV.
Nor far beneath the hero's feet,
Nor from the legislator's seat
Stands far remote the bard.
Though not with public terrors crown'd,
Yet wider shall his rule be found,
More lasting his award.
V.
Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame,
And Pompey to the Roman name
Gave universal sway:
Where are they?—Homer's reverend page
Holds empire to the thirtieth age,
And tongues and climes obey.
VI.
And thus when William's acts divine
No longer shall from Bourbon's line
Draw one vindictive vow;
When Sidney shall with Cato rest,
And Russel move the patriot's breast
No more than Brutus now;
VII.
Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art
O'er every passion, every heart,
Confirm his awful throne:
Tyrants shall bow before his laws;
And freedom's, glory's, virtue's cause,
Their dread assertor own.
poem by Mark Akenside
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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