And all the new leav'd woods, resounding wide,

Send out wild hymns upon the scented air. Lo! to the smiling Arno's classic side

The emulous nations of the West repair,

And kindle their quench'd urns, and drink fresh spirit there.

XXII.

Still, heaven deferr'd the hour ordain'd to rend
From saintly rottenness the sacred stole ;
And cowl and worshipp'd shrine could still defend
The wretch with felon stains upon his soul;
And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole
Who could not bribe a passage to the skies;
And vice beneath the mitre's kind controul,
Sinn'd gaily on, and grew to giant size,

Shielded by priestly power, and watch'd by friendly

At last the earthquake came-the shock, that hurl'd
To earth, in many fragments dash'd and strown,
The throne, whose roots were in another world,
And whose far stretching shadow aw'd our own.
From many a proud monastic pile, o'erthrown,

Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rush'd and fled;
The web, that for a thousand years had grown
O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread,
Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread.

XXIV.

The Spirit of that day is still awake,

And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again; But through the idle mesh of power shall break, Like billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain, Till men are fill'd with him, and feel how vain, Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands, Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain The smile of heaven;-till a new age expands Its white and holy wings, above the peaceful lands.

XXV.

For look again on the past years;-behold,
Flown, like the night-mare's fearful dreams, away
Full many a horrible worship, that, of old,

Subdued the shuddering realms to its dark sway;
And crimes that fear'd not once the eye of day,
Rooted from men, without a name or place;
And nations blotted out from earth, to pay

The forfeit of deep guilt;—with glad embrace
The fair disburden'd lands welcome a nobler race.

XXVI.

Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven; They fade, they fly, but truth survives their flight; Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven; Each ray, that shone, in early time, to light

The faltering footsteps in the path of right,
The broader glow of brightness, shed to aid
In man's maturer day his bolder sight,

All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid,

Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot

fade.'

XXVII.

Late, from this western shore, that morning chas'd
The deep and ancient night, that threw its shroud
O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste,
Nurse of full streams, and lifter up of proud
Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud.

Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, Trees wav'd, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest; and the bounding deer

Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yell'd near.

XXVIII.

And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay
Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim,
And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay
Young group of grassy islands born of him,
And, crowding nigh, or in the distance dim,
Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring
The commerce of the world;—with tawny limb
And belt and beads in sun-light glistening,

The Savage urg'd his skiff like wild bird on the wing.

XXIX.

Then all this youthful paradise around

And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay Cool'd by the interminable wood, that frown'd O'er mound and vale, where never summer ray Glanc'd, till the strong tornado broke his way

Through the grey giants of the sylvan wild; Yet many a shelter'd glade, with blossoms gay, Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smil❜d.

XXX.

There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake
Spread its blue sheet that flash'd with many an oar,
Where the brown otter plung'd him from the brake,
And the deer drank-as the light gale flew o'er,
The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore;
And while that spot, so wild and lone and fair,
A look of glad and innocent beauty wore,
And peace was on the earth and in the air,
The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there.

XXXI.

Not unaveng'd the foeman, from the wood,
Beheld the deed; and when the midnight shade
Was stillest, gorg'd his battle-axe with blood;

All died-the wailing babe-the shrieking maid

And, in the flood of fire that scath'd the glade,
The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew,
When on the dewy woods the day-beam play'd;

No more the cabin-smokes rose wreath'd and blue,
And ever, by their lake, lay moor'd the light canoe.

XXXII.

Look now abroad-another race has fill'd

These populous borders-wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd; The land is full of harvests and green meads; Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, Shine, disembower'd, and give to sun and breeze Their virgin waters; the full region leads

New colonies forth, that toward the western seas, Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees.

XXXIII.

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
A limit to the giant's unchain'd strength,

Or curb his swiftness in the forward race.
Far, like the comet's way through infinite space,
Stretches the long untravell'd path of light,
Into the depths of ages: we may trace,
Afar, the brightening glory of its flight,

Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.