Or is there that in mortal agony
From which the soul, exulting in its strength,
Doth learn immortal lessons? Hence, and arm!
Ere the night-dews descend, ye will have seen
Enough of death—for this must be a day
Of battle! ’Tis the hour which troubled souls
Delight in, for its rushing storms are wings
Which bear them up! Arm! arm! ’tis for your homes,
And all that lends them loveliness—Away!
[Exeunt.