« VorigeDoorgaan »
'T was but the ruin of the bad,
The wasting of the wrong and ill; Whate'er of good the old time had Was living still.
Calm grew the brows of him I feared;
The frown which awed me passed away, And left behind a smile which cheered Like breaking day.
The grain grew green on battle-plains,
O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow; The slave stood forging from his chains The spade and plough.
Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay
And cottage windows, flower-intwined,
Through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red,
Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope,
They turned to the Earth, but she frowns on her child;
turned to the Sea, and he smiled as of old:
Sweeter than the land, with its bondage and gold!