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P. 120, 1. 8, 9.

Be what ye were in ages past again,
Brave Milanese.

The efforts which the Milanese made to resist the tyranny of Frederic Barbarossa, nay rival the noblest exertions of the Spartans or the Athenians.-See Sismondi, Histoire des Républiques Italiennes du Moyen Age, tome ii. passim.

P. 120, 1. 10.

And he who 'mid dark cypresses and urns:

UGO FOSCOLO. See his "Carme de' Sepolcri," and his "Lettere di Jacopo Ortis."

P. 125, 1. 2.

On Chimborazo's height to breathe keen air.

"Thus, on the shore of the South Sea, after the long rains of winter, when the transparency of the air has suddenly increased, we see Chimborazo appear like a cloud at the horizon; it detaches itself from the neighbouring summits, and towers over the whole chain of the Andes, like that majestic dome produced by the genius of Michael Angelo over the antique monuments which surround the Capitol."— HUMBOLDT'S Researches, vol. i.

P. 125, 1. 31.

Far, far exceeds the mind's imagining.
"But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide
For erring judgments an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in th' abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight."-DRYDEN.

P. 126, 1. 7.

Shall to the perfect beauty be allied.

"The first fair, and pulchritude itself."-ST. CYRIL.

P. 126, 1. 13.

That sun of suns, unmingled and alone.
"O luce eterna, che sola in te sidi."--DANTE.

P. 127, 1. 3.

A sun-beam is her spear-she strikes, and see.
Chatterton has given this all-piercing weapon to Power.
"Power wythe his heafod straught unto the skyes,
Hys speere a sonne-beame, and hys sheelde a starre."
Chorus to Goddwyn.


Αἳ τ ̓ ἐγὼ κατεύχομαι
Θεσπίσασα πρευμενῶς

Επισσύτους βίου τύχας ὀνησίμους

Γαίας ἐξαμβρόσαι

Φαιδρὸν ἁλίου σέλας.

ESCHYL. Eumen.


WHAT are Helvetia's woods, Ausonia's bowers,
Compared with England's home-attractions? Rove
Where'er we may, we waste away those hours
That sure were better spent with friends we love,
Such as the royal casuist might approve.

But England has her beauties, her green fields;
Her rising grounds o'ertopp'd with many a grove ;
The wealth her land so prodigally yields,

That yet from violent hands the arm of justice shields.


And thou, Charissa, with thy smiling train
Of infants, in this island art renown'd;
Let others sing the dark-eyed maids of Spain,
Here beauty's modest gracefulness is found;
Here love domestic is by valour crown'd:
Ah! happy isle, where Faction vainly roars:
Her wild war-cry we heed not; we are sound:
With flag reversed, rebellion quits our shores,
And peace exulting smiles, and virtue God adores.


"Whatever is, is best ;" the blasts from hell
Of irreligion cannot shake the tree

Of truth, that in our happy isle has well
Driv'n deep its roots: the true philosophy
Is Christian faith, from superstition free.
England of Heaven asks no miraculous voice
To silence foul-mouth'd infidelity.

No! in the gospel-light her sons rejoice :

That worship must be pure, where reason points the choice.


What mighty minds have here conjointly raised
An altar to their Maker; there up-piled
The gifts of truth and eloquence amazed
Surrounding nations. Gentle as a child

Was Newton, Cowper as a seraph mild!

Yet were they champions of the faith, and kept
The ark of their religion undefiled.

Here never has Devotion's genius slept,

Nor o'er her ruin'd fanes meek Piety has wept *.

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Those who do fear it always hate the light.
Let man but know his duties, he pursues


proper good; 'tis only in the night Of ignorance that uncertain are his views, That Cleons his most credulous heart abuse. But knowledge like Ithuriel's spear will show Impostures stripp'd of all their borrow'd hues. What is the fruitful source of human woe? The fear lest men become too wise the more they know.


Vain fear! before Religion's rising sun
The fogs of Superstition break away.
Let sophists to the den of error run
And hide them from the intellectual ray

*Such to this British Isle, her Christian Fanes,
Each linked to each for kindred services;

Her spires, her steeple-towers with glittering vanes
Far kenn'd, her chapels lurking among trees,

Where a few villagers on bended knees

Find solace which a busy world disdains."-WORDSWORTH.

That this "best sun" sheds forth on us to-day.
Though tyrants dread opinion, 'tis the base
Of every government, its only stay.

Good God! what crimes the moral world disgrace, When prejudice would drive right reason from its place!


Are not the gifts of eloquence and wealth,
Beauty and talent, easily abused?

Thus into minds not guarded well, by stealth
The poison of false doctrine is infused.

E'en freedom has been, often is, misused!
Yet by instruction man is lifted here

High in the scale of being, not amused

With grovelling joys, but panting for a sphere Where mind shall live with mind through Heaven's "eternal year."


As rushing whirlwinds 'mid the stagnant air,
In Eastern climates, suddenly arise-

Thus slaves whom passions prompt, or fell despair,
Rush on their despot-master. Lo! he dies.
How weak the state which terror guards, or lies!
But when fair mercy, justice, truth support
The throne, let statesmen ope the people's eyes;
Their knowledge is as an unshaken fort

To which 'gainst all assaults the monarch might resort.

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