And evil’s poisonous sting be broken
In the bright glance of virtue’s spear.
And none shall ask, what dormitory
Was this man’s doom, what robes of glory
Wore he, what garlands crowned his brow,—
Was pomp his slave?—Come now, discover
The heart, the soul,—Delusion’s over,—
What was his conduct?—Answer now!
Where stands yon hill-supported tower,
By Fili, shall I wake again,