Of Old Sat Freedom On The Heights,

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,

      The thunders breaking at her feet:

Above her shook the starry lights:

      She heard the torrents meet.

Within her place she did rejoice,

      Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,

But fragments of her mighty voice

      Came rolling on the wind.

Then stept she down thro' town and field

      To mingle with the human race,

And part by part to men reveal'd

      The fullness of her face—

Grave mother of majestic works,

      From her isle-altar gazing down.

Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,

      And, King-like, wears the crown:

Her open eyes desire the truth.

      The wisdom of a thousand years

Is in them. May perpetual youth

      Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine,

      Make bright our days and light our dreams,

Turning to scorn with lips divine

      The falsehood of extremes!