and their woe,

Their grinding centuries, what Muse

With eye averted, and an anguished frown,

Loathingly glides the Muse through scenes of strife, Where, like the heart of Vengeance up and down,

Throbs in its framework the bloodmuffled knife;

Slow are the steps of Freedom, but her feet

Turn never backward: hers no bloody glare;

Her light is calm, and innocent, and sweet,

And where it enters there is no despair:

Not first on palace and cathedral spire Quivers and gleans that unconsuming fire;

While these stand black against her morning skies,

The peasant sees it leap from peak to peak

Along his hills; the craftsman's burn

futile snare,

That swift, convicting glow all round him ran;

'T was close beside him there, Sunrise whose Memnon is the soul of

Scattered thy frail endeavor,

like poor last year's leaves, whirled thee and thine

Into the Dark forever!

star;

VII.

here no triumph? Nay, what though

afar,

should pour

I loved thee, Freedom; as a boy
The rattle of thy shield at Marathon
Did with a Grecian joy
Through all my pulses run;

But I have learned to love thee now Without the helm upon thy gleaming brow,

A maiden mild and undefiled Like her who bore the world's redeeming child;

And surely never did thine altars
glance

With purer fires than now in France;
While, in their bright white flashes,

Wrong's shadow, backward cast,
Waves cowering o'er the ashes
Of the dead, blaspheming Past,
O'er the shapes of fallen giants,
His own unburied brood,
Whose dead hands clench defiance

At the overpowering Good: And down the happy future runs a flood Of prophesying light;

It shows an Earth no longer stained with blood,

Blossom and fruit where now we see the bud

Of Brotherhood and Right.

ANTI-APIS.

PRAISEST Law, friend? We, too, love it much as they that love it best ;

'T is the deep, august foundation, whereon Peace and Justice rest;