THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way, Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd: Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.

Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd; Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd; She woo'd me to temples, whilst thou lay'st hid in caves; Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves; Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from thee.

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail— Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale! They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains, That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains: O, foul is the slander!—no chain could that soul subdue— Where shineth thy spirit, there Liberty shineth too!