The power of Armies is a visible thing, 
Formal, and circumscribed in time and space; 
But who the limits of that power shall trace 
Which a brave People into light can bring 
Or hide, at will,--for freedom combating 
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase, 
No eye can follow, to a fatal place 
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing 
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind 
Within its awful caves.--From year to year 
Springs this indigenous produce far and near; 
No craft this subtle element can bind, 
Rising like water from the soil, to find 
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.