Unquenchable, that withered all his foes,
When vengeance called him to the ensanguined field.
The hero’s sword not only he could wield;
The heroic lyre he also strung, and oft
At eve, in his pavilion by the sea,
His melancholy spirit soothed with song.
PSYCHE.
In vigils lone she hears the chimes
Of voices from diviner climes,