Voices, that long from earth had fled,
And steps and echoes from the dead;
And many a dream whose forms arise
Like a darker world’s realities!
Call them not vain illusions—born,
But for the wise and brave to scorn!
Heaven, that the penal doom defers,
Hath yet its thousand ministers,
To scourge the heart, unseen, unknown,
In shade, in silence, and alone,