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The laurels trembl’d, though the wind was hush'd,
And sounds faint, but most musical, swept past.
She felt the influence on her, and her cheek
Grew red with strong emotion; wilder light
Flash'd from her eyes; and, with still haughtier step,
She prest the ground, and flung her arms on high;
Bright visions were before her, and the page
Of dim futurity was open'd, and
Years yet to be, were pictur'd on her soul
In all their varied characters of fate.
She told of glorious things, of victories,
Of crowns, of wealth, and then came deeper tones
Of human miseries, battles, famine, death.
L. E. L.
