V

...

O Liberty ! with profitless endeavour

Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour ;

But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever

Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.

Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,

The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves !
And there I felt thee !--on that sea-cliff's verge,

Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,

Had made one murmur with the distant surge !
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,

Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty ! my spirit felt thee there.

(proofed against E. H. Coleridge's 1927 edition of STC's poems and a ca. 1898 edition of STC's Poetical Works, ``reprinted from the early editions'')

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