Poems (Cook)/The Free

by Eliza Cook

THE FREE.

The wild streams leap with headlong sweep
In their curbless course o'er the mountain steep;
All fresh and strong, they foam along;
Waking the rocks with their cataract song.
My eye bears a glance like the beam on a lance,
While I watch the waters dash and dance:
I burn with glee, for I love to see
The path of anything that's Free.

The skylark springs, with dew on his wings;
And up in the arch of heaven he sings
Trill-la, trill-la-oh! sweeter far
Than the notes that come through a golden bar.
The joyous bay of a hound at play,
The caw of a rook on its homeward way:
Oh! these shall be the music for me,
For I love the voices of the Free.

The deer starts by, with his antlers high,
Proudly tossing his head to the sky:
The barb runs the plain, unbroke by the rein,
With steaming nostrils and flying mane.
The clouds are stirr'd by the eaglet bird,
As the flap of its swooping pinion is heard:
Oh! these shall be the creatures for me,
For my soul was form'd to love the Free.

The mariner brave, in his bark on the wave,
May laugh at the walls round a kingly slave;
And the one whose lot, is the desert spot,
Has no dread of an envious foe in his cot.
The thrall and state at the palace gate,
Are what my spirit has learnt to hate:
Oh! the hills shall be a home for me,
For I'd leave a throne for the hut of the Free.