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 To walk these hills, and look up to my God,

And bless him that it was so. It was free—

From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free!

Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks,

And plough our valleys, without asking leave;.

Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow,

In very presence of the regal sun.

How happy was it then! I loved

Its very storms. Yes, Emma, I have sat

In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake

The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge

The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed

The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled

To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head

And think I had no master save his own.

You know the jutting cliff round which a track

Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow

To such another one, with scanty room

For two a breast to pass? O'ertaken there

By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,

And while gust followed gust more furiously,

As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there—the thought that mine was free

Has check'd that wish, I have raised my head,

And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,

Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

A Country Schoolmaster, high Jonas Bell,

Once undertook of little souls,

To furnish up their jobbernowls—

In other words, he taught them how to spell,