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O Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee many a weary hour:
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human pow'r.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor pray'r, nor boastful name delays thee)
Alike from priesthood's harpy minions,
And factious blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
To live amid the winds, and move upon the waves!
And then I felt thee on that sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travell'd by the breeze above,
Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes! while I stood and gaz'd, my temples bare,
And shot my being thro' earth, sea, and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty, my spirit felt thee there!
February 1798.
