And Wisdom along her pathway upsprings
And Hope is revived in new bourgeonings.
Ay, she has put by for this fatherland
The mortal allures of sleep and of rest,
To weave green laurels with her white hand
On the forehead of Science or Art to be prest!
If on some aureate morrow we stand
Forth gazing as one from a mountain’s crest,
Her spirit that led us from steep to steep
There will our faltering footsteps keep.