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der be of the description just mentioned, and shall settle himself with his book in a comfortable arm-chair condition,-in winter perhaps, with the lights at his shoulder, and his feet on a good fender,-in summer, with a window open to a smoothing air, and the consciousness of some green trees about him,-and in both instances, (if he can muster up so much poetical accompaniment) with a lady beside him,-the author does not despair of converting him into a very sufficient and satisfied kind of theatre.

ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814*,

THE vision then is past,

That held the eyes of nations,

Swept in his own careering blast,
That shook the earth's foundations.
No more throughout the air
Settles the burning glare,

That far and wide, metallic twilight, shone;
No more the bolts, from south to north,

Leap in their fiery passion forth;

We look'd, and saw the Wonder on his throne;

We rais'd our eyes again, and lo, his place was gone.

Nor did the Shape give way

To mightier spirits like him,

Nor did upon that final day

Elder Corruption strike him.

From the Examiner of April the 17th, 1814.

The long-taught world no more

Those idle. charms explore,

Nor call on evil to restore from ill;

But heav'n-ward things, that have their birth
And shed their early tears on earth,

Experience, Truth, and Conquest of the will, These took the Troubler's place, and bade the Plague

be still.

Never did sweeter sound

From discord drop resolving,

Than struck the balanc'd world around

Once more set smooth revolving;

And princely visions rare,

Went stepping through the air,

With frank eyes listening to the glassy spheres ;

The Eagles of the north were seen

Sailing the sunny doves between ;

The Lily whiten'd from it's dust with tears;

And Hopes with lifted smiles, and holy-minded Fears.

And lo, how earth and sky, As if the charm completing,

From winter's other tyranny

Revive and give us greeting.
There's not a joy of spring,

But's up upon the wing;

The leaves put out their hands into the ray;
The bee, that rings the basking hour,

Comes for his kiss from flow'r to flow'r;
Glad faces are abroad with crowding play,
And all creation keeps full-hearted holiday.

The soldier sheathes his sword,
The statesman breathes from thinking,
The freeman feels his hope restor❜d,
When most his heart was shrinking.
No more the widow bleeds

To see the babe that feeds

At her dear breast with sudden-stopping moan;

But while his earnest task he plies,
Smiles in his grave uplifted eyes,

Gath'ring his little hand into her own,

And feels that in the world she shall not be alone.

O Liberty! O breath

Of all that's true existence !

Thou at whose touch the soul, at death,

But leaps to joy and distance;

Before thy present call,

The very captive's wall,

If wrongly round him, like a curtain flies;
The green and laughing world he sees,
Waters, and plains, and waving trees,

The skim of birds, and the blue-doming skies, And sits with smile at heart, and patience-levell'd

eyes.

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