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EFFECTS OF FREEDOM.

BY COWPER.

FREEDOM has a thousand charms to show,
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
The mind attains, beneath her happy reign,
The growth that nature meant she should attain:
The varied fields of science, ever new,
Opening, and wider opening on her view,
She ventures onward with a prosperous force,
While no base fear impedes her in her course.
Religion, richest favour of the skies,

Sitands most revealed before the freeman's eyes;
No shades of superstition blot the day,
Liberty chases all that gloom away;
The soul emancipated, unoppress'd,
Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best,
Learns much; and to a thousand listening minds
Communicates with joy the good she finds :
Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show
His manly forehead to the fiercest foe;
Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace,
His spirits rising as his toils increase,
Guards well what arts and industry have won,
And Freedom claims him for her first-born son.
Slaves fight for what were better cast away-
The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway

But they, that fight for freedom, undertake
The noblest cause mankind can have at stake:-
Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call
A blessing-freedom is the pledge of all.
O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream,
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme;
Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse;
Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse;
Heroic song from thy free touch acquires
Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires:
Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air,
And I will sing, if Liberty be there;

And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet,
In Afric's torrid zone, or India's fiercest heat.

Yet, freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind;
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying,
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind;
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms; and the rind,
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth
But the sap lasts, -and still the seed we find
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the north;
So shall a bitter spring less bitter fruit bring forth.

Byron.

TO FREEDOM.

BY JOEL BARLOW.

SUN of the moral world! effulgent source Of man's best wisdom and his steadiest force, Soul-searching Freedom! here assume thy stand, And radiate hence to every distant land: Point out and prove how all the scenes of strife, The shock of states, the impassion'd broils of life, Spring from unequal sway; and how they fly Before the splendour of thy peaceful eye; Unfold at last the genuine social plan, The mind's full scope, the dignity of man, Bold nature, bursting through her long disguise, And nations daring to be just and wise. Yes! righteous Freedom, heaven and earth and sea Yield or withhold their various gifts for thee Protected Industry beneath thy reign Leads all the virtues in her filial train; Courageous Probity, with brow serene, And Temperance calm presents her placid mien; Contentment, Moderation, Labour, Art, Mould the new man and humanize his heart; To public plenty private ease dilates,. Domestic peace to harmony of states. Protected Industry, careering far, Detects the cause and cures the rage of war,

And sweeps, with forceful arm, to their last graves, Kings from the earth and pirates from the waves.

THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Ay, this is freedom!-these pure skies

Were never stain'd with village smoke: The fragrant wind, that through them flies,

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. Here, with my rifle and my steed,

And her who left the world for me, I plant me, where the red deer feed In the green desert-and am free.

For here the fair savannas know

No barriers in the bloomy grass; Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. In pastures, measureless as air,

The bison is my noble game;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river-fowl that scream

From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear, that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;

The brinded catamount, that lies High in the boughs to watch his prey, Even in the act of springing, dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arms across my way, Gray, old, and cumber'd with a train

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! Free stray the lucid streams, and find

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades.

Alone the fire, when frostwinds sere

The heavy herbage of the ground, Gathers his annual harvest here,

With roaring like the battle's sound, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky: I meet the flames with flames again,

And at my door they cower and die. Here, from dim woods, the aged past

Speaks solemnly; and I behold The boundless future in the vast

And lonely river, seaward roll'd. Who feeds its founts with rain and dew? Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, And trains the bordering vines, whose blue, Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?

Broad are these streams-my steed obeys,
Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods-I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.

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