Is freedom nothing but a name,
An empty sound, a parrot cry,
A wreath of smoke devoid of flame,
An Idle wind that whistles by ?
Deep down within the human breast,
Where nature’s purest raptures glow,
Each nobler feeling joins rrotest.
And heart and conscience whisper No.
Can fetters chain the might of mind.
Or captive bonds the soul enthral?
Gan faith and reason intertwined
Be strangled at a despot’s call ?
In ages past, in deeds sublime.
Old freedom’s records proudly show.
Through each revolving course of time.
That history’s pages answer No.
Shall man, the noblest form on earth.
Forego the rights his Maker gave?
Renounce the charter of his birth,
-And live and die a Clinging slave ?
From east to west, from north to south,
In tides that surge, in storms that blow.
All nature’s bounds re-echo forth
As earth and heaven they thunder No.
Bedlington. JAMES TROTTER.
the old proverbial recovery through ancient eyes