LIV.

Yet then that Power, whose dwelling is on high, Its loftiest marvels doth reveal, and speak, In the deep human heart more gloriously, Than in the bursting thunder! Thence the weak, They that seem’d form’d, as flower-stems, but to break With the first wind, have risen to deeds whose name Still calls up thoughts that mantle to the cheek, And thrill the pulse!--Ay, strength no pangs could tame Hath look’d from woman’s eye upon the sword and flame!