XXXIII.

  Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
  Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
  A limit to the giant’s unchained strength,
  Or curb his swiftness in the forward race! 
  Far, like the cornet’s way through infinite space
  Stretches the long untravelled path of light,
  Into the depths of ages:  we may trace,
  Distant, the brightening glory of its flight,
Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.

XXXIV

  Europe is given a prey to sterner fates,
  And writhes in shackles; strong the arms that chain
  To earth her struggling multitude of states;
  She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain
  Against them, but might cast to earth the train
  That trample her, and break their iron net. 
  Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain
  The meed of worthier deeds; the moment set
To rescue and raise up, draws near—­but is not yet.

XXXV.

  But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,
  Save with thy children—­thy maternal care,
  Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all—­
  These are thy fetters—­seas and stormy air
  Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where,
  Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well,
  Thou laugh’st at enemies:  who shall then declare
  The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell.

THANATOPSIS.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, e’re he is aware.  When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—­
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—­
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,—­
Comes a still voice—­Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image.  Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon.  The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.