The Disenthralled

He had bowed down to drunkenness,     An abject worshipper:     The pride of manhood's pulse had grown     Too faint and cold to stir;     And he had given his spirit up     To the unblessd thrall,     And bowing to the poison cup,     He gloried in his fall!     There came a change the cloud rolled off,     And light fell on his brain     And like the passing of a dream     That cometh not again,     The shadow of the spirit fled.     He saw the gulf before,     He shuddered at the waste behind,     And was a man once more.     He shook the serpent folds away,     That gathered round his heart,     As shakes the swaying forest-oak     Its poison vine apart;     He stood erect; returning pride     Grew terrible within,     And conscience sat in judgment, on     His most familiar sin.     The light of Intellect again     Along his pathway shone;     And Reason like a monarch sat     Upon his olden throne.     The honored and the wise once more     Within his presence came;     And lingered oft on lovely lips     His once forbidden name.     There may be glory in the might,     That treadeth nations down;     Wreaths for the crimson conqueror,     Pride for the kingly crown;     But nobler is that triumph hour,     The disenthralled shall find,     When evil passion boweth down,     Unto the Godlike mind