Whence, O whence that blinding brightness?
What had touch’d the boy afar?—
For the chariot of Elijah
Had he spurn’d his comrade’s car?
“Stop the fire!” cried all the village,—
Ah, but none could now keep down
Martin’s love, there marshal’d heavenward,
Haloed by a martyr’s crown.
Not the flood that men set flowing
Faster than the fire could spread,