Classic Poem

Born with a love for truth and liberty,
And earnest for the public right, he stands
Like solitary pine in wasted lands,—
Or some paladin of old legends, he
Would live that other souls like his be free,
Not caring for self or pelf or pandering power,
He thunders incessant, earnest, hour by hour,
Till some old despot shackle cease to be.

Not his the gaudy title, nor the place
Where hungry fingers clutch his country's gold:
But where the trodden crouch in evil case,
His cause is theirs, to lighten or to hold;
His monument, the people's glad acclaim;
And title high, a love more great than fame.