Ere yet the Dove of Heaven descend to shed
Inspiring influence o’er thy fallen head.
—He who hath pined in dungeons, midst the shade
Of such deep night as man for man hath made,
Through lingering years—if call’d at length to be
Once more, by nature’s boundless charter, free
Shrinks feebly back, the blaze of noon to shun,
Fainting at day, and blasted by the sun.
Thus, when the captive soul hath long remain’d
In its own dread abyss of darkness chain’d,