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Kingly safeguard, only herb
That can brutish passion curb !
Some do think its name should be
Shield-Heart, White Integrity.
Traveler, pluck a stem of moly,

If thou touch at Circe's isle,
Hermes' moly, growing solely

To undo enchanter's wile !


I PLUCKED the weeds forth, left and right,

To make an open space
About a wind-sown blossom bright,

With uplift wondering face.

“Why sparest me, and them dost slay?”

The darling blossom sighed ;
Nor knew itself more worth than they
That fell in rank-blown pride.


How winneth Liberty? By sword and brand,

Or by the souls of those who strive and die ? Where dwelleth Liberty? Where lies the land

Most open to the favors of her eye? Hath she her seat in empires, deserts wide, Or most in little freeholds doth she bide ?

What is the range that Nature gives her own ?

With frost or fire she stays their flying feet, And holdeth each within its native zone:

The pine its love the palm, shall never meet; Nowhere do roses bloom from beds of ice, Nowhere in valleys laughs the edelweiss.

The races of the sea shall never fare

Beyond the moist and sounding element, Nor any pinion, fledged and schooled in air,

On venturous errand through the waves be sent: The cygnet to his nest of river flag, The eagle to his aerie on the crag.

Dwells Freedom with the sphery multitude
The vistas of the nightly sky reveal ?

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Each planet keeps the track it hath pursued,
And shall


turn and wheel;
Uncentred, roves the guideless aerolite,
And drives to ruin down the steeps of night.


With law dwells liberty ; law makoth free;

Fly law, and thou dost forge thyself a chain.
Still wouldst thou pass the limits set for thee?

Still wouldst thou grasp strange honors and domain ?
Behold, his liberty exceedeth thine,
Who freely breathes in bounds where thou wouldst



THOU that didst fashion forth this chalice frail
By marvelous and secret workmanship,
Whate'er the potion lifted to my lip,

Let not my spirit fail.

So temper Thou for me joy's lusty wine,
That no presumptuous madness it shall breed ;
And cast Thou into praise's subtle mead

An amethyst divine.

In that dull stream which runs from sorrow's press,
Mingle a keen elixir, lest my powers,
Fallen on silent and oblivious hours,

Should lapse in idleness.

Do thou allay remorse's fiery heat,
Blending therewith a blessed lenitive,
So that I wither not away, but live

To make amendment meet.

Teach me a golden song, that worthily
Life's aßuent vintage I may celebrate ;
And put into my heart a pledge elate
For them that drink with me.

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