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Spirit of Freedom! when on Phy'le's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybu'lus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain?

Then spake Hamdir The high-hearted: "Nought hadst thou to praise The doings of Hogni, When they woke up Sigurd From out of slumber, And in bed thou sat'st up 'Mid the banes-men's laughter. "Then when thy bed=gear, Blue-white, well woven By art of craftsmen All swam with thy king's blood; The Sigurd died, O'er his dead corpse thou sattest, Not heeding aught gladsome, Since Gunnar so willed it.

Thee, whom Maeonia educated, whom Mantua charmed, and who, on that fair hill which overlooks the proud metropolis of Britain, sat'st, with thy Milton, sweetly tuning the heroic lyre; fill my ravished fancy with the hopes of charming ages yet to come.

Alabaster of a Siamese account. Ill wast Thou shrouded then, O patient Son of God, yet stood'st alone Unshaken! nor yet staid the terror there; Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round Environed Thee; some howl'd, some yell'd, some shriek'd, Some bent at Thee their fiery darts, while Thou Sat'st unappall'd in calm and sinless peace."

Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain?