O, say not that my heart is cold

O, say not that my heart is cold
To aught that once could warm it;
That Nature's form, so dear of old,
No more has power to charm it;
Or that the ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion
For those who made it dearer still.
And shared my wild devotion.

Still oft those solemn scenes I view
In rapt and dreamy sadness;
Oft look on those who loved them too
With Fancy's idle gladness;
Again I long'd to view the light
In Nature's features glowing,
Again to tread the mountain's height,
And taste the soul's o'erflowing.

Stern Duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me;
With iron look and sullen tongue
He mutter'd as he bound me;
"The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven
Unfit for toil the creature;
These for the free alone are given—
But what have slaves with Nature?"