XVI.
Vain dreams! upon that spirit hath descended
Light from the living Fountain, whence each thought
Springs pure and holy! In that eye is blended
A spark, with Earth's triumphal memories fraught,
And, far within, a deeper meaning, caught
From worlds unseen. A hope, a lofty trust,
Whose resting-place on buoyant wing is sought
(Though through its veil, seen darkly from the dust,)
XVII.
Those were proud days, when on the battle plain,
And in the sun's bright face, and midst th' array
Of awe-struck hosts, and circled by the slain,
The Roman cast his glittering mail away5[1],
And, while a silence, as of midnight, lay
O'er breathless thousands, at his voice who started,
Call'd on the unseen, terrific powers that sway
The heights, the depths, the shades; then, fearless-hearted,
