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