There would we linger oft, entranc'd, to hear, O'er battle fields the epic thunders roll; Or list, where tragic wail upon the ear, Through Argive palaces shrill echoing, stole; There would we mark, uncurbed by all control, In central heaven, the Theban eagle's flight; Or hold communion with the musing soul Of sage or bard, who sought, 'mid pagan night, In lov'd Athenian groves, for truth's eternal light. Homeward we turned, to that fair land, but late Redeemed from the strong spell that bound it fast, Where mystery, brooding o'er the waters, sate And kept the key, till three millenniums past; When, as creation's noblest work was last, Latest, to man it was vouchsafed, to see Nature's great wonder, long by clouds o'ercast, And veiled in sacred awe, that it might be An empire and a home, most worthy for the free. And here, forerunners strange and meet were found, Of that bless'd freedom, only dreamed before;-- Dark were the morning mists, that lingered round Their birth and story, as the hue they bore. "Earth was their mother;"--or they knew no more, Or would not that their secret should be told; For they were grave and silent; and such lore, To stranger ears, they loved not to unfold, The long-transmitted tales their sires were taught of old. Kind nature's commoners, from her they drew Their needful wants, and learn'd not how to hoard; And him whom strength and wisdom crowned, they knew, But with no servile reverence, as their lord. And on their mountain summits they adored One great, good Spirit, in his high abode, And thence their incense and orisons poured To his pervading presence, that abroad They felt through all his works,--their Father, King, and God. And in the mountain mist, the torrent's spray, The quivering forest, or the glassy flood, Soft falling showers, or hues of orient day, They imaged spirits beautiful and good; But when the tempest roared, with voices rude, Or fierce, red lightning fired the forest pine, Or withering heats untimely seared the wood, The angry forms they saw of powers malign; These they besought to spare, those blest for aid divine. As the fresh sense of life, through every vein, With the pure air they drank, inspiring came, Comely they grew, patient of toil and pain, And as the fleet deer's agile was their frame; Of meaner vices scarce they knew the name; These simple truths went down from sire to son,-- To reverence age,--the sluggish hunter's shame, And craven warrior's infamy to shun,-- And still avenge each wrong, to friends or kindred done.