, you are free, partly, because you are young.
Your nation is like a fine, florid youth, full of fiery impulses, and
hard to restrain; his strong hand nobly championing his heart. On all
sides, freely he gives, and still seeks to acquire. The breath of his
nostrils is like smoke in spring air; every tendon is electric with
generous resolves. The oppressor he defies to his beard; the high
walls of old opinions he scales with a bound. In the future he sees
all the domes of the East.

"But years elapse, and this bold boy is transformed. His eyes open not
as of yore; his heart is shut up as a vice. He yields not a groat; and
seeking no more acquisitions, is only bent on preserving his hoard.
The maxims once trampled under foot, are now printed on his front; and
he who hated oppressors, is become an oppressor himself.

"Thus, often, with men; thus, often, with nations. Then marvel not,
sovereign-kings! that old states are different from yours; and think
not, your own must forever remain liberal as now.

"Each age thinks its own is eternal. But though for five hundred
twelve-moons, all Romara, by courtesy of history, was republican; yet,
at last, her terrible king-tigers came, and spotted themselves with
gore.

"And time was, when Dominora was republican, down to her sturdy back-
bone. The son of an absolute monarch became the man Karolus; and his
crown and head, both rolled in the dust. And Dominora had her patriots
by thousands; and lusty Defenses, and glorious Areopagiticas
were written, not since surpassed; and no turban was doffed save in
homage of Oro.

"Yet, may it please you, to the sound of pipe and tabor, the second
King Karolus returned in good time; and was hailed gracious majesty by
high and low.

"Throughout all eternity, the parts of the past are but parts of the
future reversed. In the old foot-prints, up and down, you mortals go,
eternally traveling your Sierras. And not more infallible the
ponderings of the Calculating Machine than the deductions from the
decimals of history.

"In nations, sovereign-kings! there is a transmigration of souls; in
you, is a marvelous destiny. The eagle of Romara revives in your own
mountain bird, and once more is plumed for her flight. Her screams are
answered by the vauntful cries of a hawk; his red comb yet reeking
with slaughter. And one East, one West, those bold birds may fly, till
they lock pinions in the midmost beyond.

"But, soaring in the sky over the natio