In which the brave and virtuous pined and droop'd
In useless indolence, changed for a state
Of social love, and joy, and active bliss,—
A state of brotherhood,—a state of virtue,
So grand, so purified;—O it is excellent!
My soul is roused within me at the sound,
Like some poor slave, who from a dungeon issues
To range with free-born men his native land.
FATHER.
Become the high compeer of blessed spirits.
CORDENIUS.
Nature's mysterious tears, will have their way.
FATHER.
CORDENIUS.
At contemplation of exalted virtue?
Perhaps in token of the fallen state
In which we are, as thrilling sympathy
Strangely acknowledges some sight and sound,
Connected with a dear and distant home,
Albeit the mem'ry hath that link forgotten:—
A kind of latent sense of what we were,
Or might have been; a deep mysterious token.