The Port Gibson Reveille

POETRY.
From Blackwood's Magazine.
Masquerade of Freedom.

When Freedom first appeared beneath,
Right simple was the garb she wore,
Her brows were circled with a wreath,
Such as the Grecian victors bore:
Her vestures all of spotless white,
Her aspect stately and serene
And so she moved in all men's sight
As lovely as a maiden queen.

And queen-like, long she ruled the throng,
As ancient records truly tell:
Their strength she took not from the strong,
But taught them how to use it well.
Her presence graced the peasant's floor
As freely as the noble's hall;
And aye the humbler was the door,
The still more welcome was her call.

But simple manners seldom range
Beyond the simpler ages' ken,
And e'en the Virtues sometimes change
Their vesture and their looks, like men.
Pride, noble once grows close and vain,
And Honor stoops to vulgar things,
And old Obedience slacks the rein,
And murmurs at the rule of kings.

So Freedom, like her sisters too,
Has felt the impulse of the time,
Has changed her garments' blameless hue,
And donned the colors dear to crime.
First in a Phrygian cap she walked,
And bore within her grasp the sphere;
And ever when abroad she walked,
Men knew Revenge was following near.

She moves again-the death-drums roll,
The frantic mobs their chorus raise,
The thunder of the Carmagnole
The war chant of the Marseillaise!
Red ran the streets with blameless blood
The guillotine comes clanking down-
And Freedom, in her drunken mood,
Can witness all without a frown!