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It is done! In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth.

It shall bid the sad rejoice,

It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth !

Ring and swing, Bells of joy! On morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad! With a sound of broken chains,

Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

It is done!
Clang of bell and roar of gun
Send the tidings up and down.

How the belfries rock and reel !

How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town!

Ring, O bells !
Every stroke exulting tells
Of the burial hour of crime.

Loud and long, that all may hear,

Ring for every listening ear
Of Eternity and Time !

Let us kneel :
God's own voice is in that peal,
And this spot is holy ground.

Lord, forgive us! What are we,

That our eyes this glory sec,
That our ears have heard the sound !

For the Lord
On the whirlwind is abroad ;
In the earthquake he has spoken ;

He has smitten with his thunder

The iron walls asunder,
And the gates of brass are broken !

Loud and long
Lift the old exulting song;
Sing with Miriam by the sea :

He has cast the mighty down;

Horse and rider sink and drown; He has triumphed gloriously!

Did we dare,
In our agony of prayer,
Ask for more than He has done?

GREECE.

FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! Immortal, though no more ; though fallen,

great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children

forth,
And long-accustomed bondage uncreate ?
Not such thy sons who whilome did await,
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom,
In bleak Thermopyla's sepulchral strait, -

0, who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from

the tomb ?

Spirit of Freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which

now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,

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Another despot of the kind !

And whenever aught to tempt them they met by Such chains as his were sure to bind.

wood or wold,

By right of sword they seized the prize, – those Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

gallant knights of old ! On Suli's rock and Parga's shore Exists the remnant of a line

O the gentle dames of old ! who, quite free from Such as the Doric mothers bore;

fear or pain, And there perhaps some seed is sown

Could gaze on joust and tournament, and see The Heracleidan blood might own.

their champions slain;

They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which Trust not for freedom to the Franks,

made them strong and bold, They have a king who buys and sells.

O, more like men than women were those gentle In native swords and native ranks

dames of old ! The only hope of courage dwells;

O those mighty towers of old ! with their turrets, But Turkish force and Latin fraud

moat, and keep, Would break your shield, however broad.

Their battlements and bastions, their dungeons

dark and deep. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !

Full many a baron held his court within the Our virgins dance beneath the shade,

castle hold; I see their glorious black eyes shine;

And many a captive languished there, in those But, gazing on each glowing maid,

strong towers of old. My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. O the troubadours of old ! with the gentle min.

strelsie Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whiche'er their Where nothing, save the waves and I,

lot might be ; May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; For years they served their ladye-love ere they There, svan-like, let me sing and die.

their passions told, A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine, - 0, wondrous patience must have had those trouDash down yon cup of Samian wine !

badours of old ! BYRON.

O those blessed times of old, with their chivalry

and state !

I love to read their chronicles, which such brave O THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD !

deeds relate ; O THE pleasant days of old, which so often peo

| I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear their ple praise !

legends told, True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace our

But, Heaven be thanked ! I live not in those modern days : :

blessed times of old ! Bare floors were strewed with rushes, the walls

let in the cold ; 0, how they must have shivered in those pleasant

THE REFORMER. days of old !

ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan, O those ancient lords of old, how magnificent I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, they were !

Smiting the godless shrines of man They threw down and imprisoned kings, – to

Along his path. thwart them who might dare? They ruled their serfs right sternly; they took | The Church beneath her trembling domo from Jews their gold, —

Essayed in vain her ghostly charm : Above both law and equity were those great lords Wealth shook within his gilded home of old !

. With strange alarm.

FRANCES BROWN.

O the gallant knights of old, for their valor so

renowned ! With sword and lance and armor strong they

scoured the country round;

Fraud from his secret chambers fled

Before the sunlight bursting in :
Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head

To drown the din.

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POEMS OF THE SEA.

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