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When Love's a tyrant, and the soul a slave,
No hopes remain to thought, but in the grave;
In that dark den, it sees an end to grief,

And what was once its dread, becomes relief.

What are the iron chains that hands have wrought?
The hardest chains to break are those of thought,
Think well of this, ye lovers, and be kind,
Nor play with torture-or a tortured mind.

.Mr. Paine, while in prison in Paris, corresponded with a lady, under the signature of "The Castle in the Air," while she addressed her letters from "The Little Corner of the World." For reasons which he knew not, their intercourse was suddenly suspended, and for some time he believed his fair friend to be in obscurity and distress. Many years afterwards, however, he met her unexpectedly at Paris, in affluent circumstances, and married to Sir Robert Smith. The following is a copy of one of these poetical effusions.





In the region of clouds, where the whirlwinds arise,
My Castle of Fancy was built;

The turrets reflected the blue from the skies,
And the windows with sunbeams were gilt.


The rainbow sometimes, in its beautiful state,
Enamell'd the mansion around;


And the figures that fancy in clouds can create,
Supplied me with gardens and ground.

I had grottoes, and fountains, and orange tree groves, I had all that enchantment has told;

I had sweet shady walks, for the Gods and their Loves, I had mountains of coral and gold.

But a storm that I felt not, had risen and roll'd,
While wrapp'd in a slumber I lay;

And when I look'd out in the morning, behold
My Castle was carried away.

It pass'd over rivers, and vallies, and groves,
The world it was all in my view;

I thought of my friends, of their fates, of their loves,
And often, full often of you.

At length it came over a beautiful scene,

That nature in silence had made;

The place was but small, but 'twas sweetly serene,
And chequer'd with sunshine and shade.

I gazed and I envied with painful goodwill,
And grew tired of my seat in the air;
When all of a sudden my Castle stood still,
As if some attraction was there.

Like a lark from the sky it came fluttering down,

And placed me exactly in view,

When who should I meet in this charming retreat,
This corner of calmness, but you.

Delighted to find you in honor and ease,

I felt no more sorrow, nor pain;

But the wind coming fair, I ascended the breeze,
And went back with my Castle again.


To Mrs. Barlow, on her pleasantly telling the author, that after writing against the superstition of the Scripture religion, he was setting up a religion capable of more bigotry and enthusiasm, and more dangerous to its votaries—that of making a religion of Love.

O could we always live and love,

And always be sincere,

I would not wish for heaven above,
My heaven would be here.

Though many countries I have seen,
And more may chance to see,
My Little Corner of the World
Is half the world to me;

The other half, as you may guess,
America contains ;

And thus, between them, I possess
The whole world for my pains.

I'm then contented with my lot,
I can no happier be;

For neither world, I'm sure, has got
So rich a man as me.

Then send no fiery chariot down
To take me off from hence,
But leave me on my heavenly ground-
This prayer is common-sense.

Let others choose another plan,

I mean no fault to find;

The true theology of man
Is happiness of mind.

* Lady Smith



Quick as the lightning's vivid flash,

The poet's eye o'er Europe rolls; Sees battles rage-hears tempests crash, And dims at horror's threat'ning scowls.

Mark ambition's ruthless king,

With crimson'd banners scath the globe; While trailing after conquest's wing,

Man's fest'ring wounds his demons probe.

Pall'd with streams of reeking gore,

That stain the proud imperial day;

He turns to view the western shore,

Where freedom holds her boundless sway.

'Tis here her sage triumphant sways,
An empire in the people's love,
'Tis here the sovereign will obeys,
No KING but He who rules above.

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