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EFFECTS OF FREEDOM.
FREEDOM has a thousand charms to show,
Sitands most revealed before the freeman's eyes;
But they, that fight for freedom, undertake
And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet,
Yet, freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
BY JOEL BARLOW.
SUN of the moral world! effulgent source Of man's best wisdom and his steadiest force, Soul-searching Freedom! here assume thy stand, And radiate hence to every distant land: Point out and prove how all the scenes of strife, The shock of states, the impassion'd broils of life, Spring from unequal sway; and how they fly Before the splendour of thy peaceful eye; Unfold at last the genuine social plan, The mind's full scope, the dignity of man, Bold nature, bursting through her long disguise, And nations daring to be just and wise. Yes! righteous Freedom, heaven and earth and sea Yield or withhold their various gifts for thee Protected Industry beneath thy reign Leads all the virtues in her filial train; Courageous Probity, with brow serene, And Temperance calm presents her placid mien; Contentment, Moderation, Labour, Art, Mould the new man and humanize his heart; To public plenty private ease dilates,. Domestic peace to harmony of states. Protected Industry, careering far, Detects the cause and cures the rage of war,
And sweeps, with forceful arm, to their last graves, Kings from the earth and pirates from the waves.
THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES.
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Ay, this is freedom!-these pure skies
Were never stain'd 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, where the red deer feed In the green desert-and am free.
For here the fair savannas know
No barriers in the bloomy grass; Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,
Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. In pastures, measureless as air,
The bison is my noble game;
Mine are the river-fowl that scream
From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The brinded catamount, that lies High in the boughs to watch his prey, Even in the act of springing, dies.
With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arms across my way, Gray, old, and cumber'd with a train
Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! Free stray the lucid streams, and find
No taint in these fresh lawns and shades Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades.
Alone the fire, when frostwinds sere
The heavy herbage of the ground, Gathers his annual harvest here,
With roaring like the battle's sound, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky: I meet the flames with flames again,
And at my door they cower and die. Here, from dim woods, the aged past
Speaks solemnly; and I behold The boundless future in the vast
And lonely river, seaward roll'd. Who feeds its founts with rain and dew? Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, And trains the bordering vines, whose blue, Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?
Broad are these streams-my steed obeys,