XXXII.

Her glance is on the triumph, on the field, On the red scaffold; and where’er, in sight Of human eyes, the human soul is steel’d To deeds that seem as of immortal might, Yet are proud Nature’s! But her meteor-light Can pierce no depths, no clouds; it falls not where In silence, and in secret, and in night, The noble heart doth wrestle with despair, And rise more strong than death from its unwitness’d prayer.