Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/85

 The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
 * Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
 * They burst their manacles and wear the name
 * Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
 * 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 power.
 * Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
 * (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
 * Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
 * And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
 * Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,

The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! And there 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 through earth, sea and air,
 * Possessing all things with intensest love,
 * O Liberty I my spirit felt thee there.