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And away, like a spírit

, wreathed in light, Thou húrriest wild and free.


Thou húrriest over the myriad waves,

And thou leavest them all behínd.
Thou sweepest that place of unknown graves,

Fleet as the tempest wind.
When the night storm gathers dím and dárk,

With a shrill and bóding scream,
Thou rushest by the foundering bark,

Quick as a passing dream.

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Lord of the boundless realm of air

In thy impérial náme,
The hearts of the bold and ardent dare

The dangerous path of fáme.
Beneath the shade of thy golden wings,

The Roman legions bóre
From the river of Égypt's cloudy springs,

Their pride, to the polar shore.

For thée they fought, for thée they féll

And their oath was on thee laid ;
To thée the clarions raised their swell,

And the dying warrior prayed.
Thou wert thro’ an age of death and fears,

The image of pride and power ;

Till the gathered rage of a thousand years

Burst forth in one awful hour.

And then a deluge of wrath it came,

And the nations shook with dread; And it swept the earth till its fields were fláme

And pised with the mingled dead. Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood,

With the low and crouching slave. And together lay, in a shroud of blood,

The coward and the brave.

And where was then thy fearless flight ?

“O'er the dark mysterious sea;
To the lands that caught the setting light-

The cradle of Liberty !
There on the silent and lonely shóre,

For ages I watch'd alóne;
And the world in its darkness asked no more

Where the glorious bírd had flówn.

« But then came a bóld and hardy few,

And they breasted the unknown wave; I caught afár the wandering crew,

And I knew they were high and bráve.. I wheel'd around the welcome bark,

As it sought the desolate shore,

And úp to heav'n, like a joyous lárk,

My quívering pínions bóre.
“ And now that bóld and hárdy few

Are a nation wide and strong;
And danger and doubt I have led them through,

And they worship me in song;
And over their bright and glancing arms,

On field, and lake, and sea,
With an eye that fíres, and a spell that charms,

I guide them to victory!"

SPRING.-N. P. Willis.

The spring is here, the délicate-footed Máy,

With its slight fíngers full of leaves and flowers; And with it comes a thirst to be away,

Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours ;
A feeling that is like a sense of wings,
Restless to soar above these perishing things.
We pass out from the city's féverish húm,

To find refreshment in the silent woods ;
And nature, that is beautiful and dumb,

Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods ; Yét

, even there, a restless thought will steal, To teach the indolent heart it stíll must feel.

Strange that the audible stíllness of the noon,

The waters tripping with their sílver feet,
The turning to the light of leaves in June,

And the light whisper as their edges meet,-
Strange that they fill not with their tranquil tone,
The spirit walking in their mídst, alone!
There is no contentment in a world like this,

Save in forgetting the immortal dream;
We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss,

That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream;
Bird-like, the prison'd soul will lift its eye,
And pine, till it is hooded from the sky!


Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clíme, Where the rage of the vulture, the lóve of the turtle Now melt into sorrow, now

madden to crime? Know the land of the cedar and víne Where the flowers ever blossom, the leaves ever shine ; Where the light wings of zephyr, oppréss'd with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul* in her bloom; Where the cítron and Ólive are fáirest of fruit,


* Gul, the Rose.

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And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
Where the tínts of the earth and the hues of the sky,
In color though varied, in beauty may vie,
And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dýe ;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all

, save the spirit of man, is divine ?
'Tis the clíme of the East

, —'tis the land of the sun !
on such deeds

as his children have done?
Oh! wild as the accents of lóvers' farewell,
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tases which they téll


Can he

The exercise in Intonation serves also for an exercise in Blank Verse ; and the next Exercise contains some other varieties of metrical arrangement.


I have chosen the following well-known and beautiful ode, as the vehicle of instruction, and as a particular Exercise in Expression, although quite familiar to the reader, as a composition,--because it affords great scope for transition of pitch, variation of force, and change of time, in accordance with the varied action and quality of the personification of each individual passion. It is in these transitions and variations that the main beauty of the ode lies; and on the marking of them distinctly, depends the effect in delivery.

The ode is also a good practice in rhythmical reading, from the variety as well as polish of the versification.

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