Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/41



He that in mountain holds hath sought A refuge for unconquer'd thought, A charter'd home, where Freedom's child Might rear her altars in the wild, And fix her quenchless torch on high, A beacon for Eternity; Or they, whose martyr-spirits wage Proud war with Persecution's rage, And to the Deserts bear the faith, That bids them smile on chains and death; Well may they draw, from all around, Of grandeur cloth'd in form and sound, From the deep power of earth and sky, Wild nature's might of majesty, Strong energies, immortal fires, High hopes, magnificent desires!

But dark, terrific, and austere, To him doth Nature's mien appear, Who, midst her wilds would seek repose, From guilty pangs and vengeful foes! For him the wind hath music dread, A dirge-like voice that mourns the dead;