—Hamlet, Act iii., Sc. 4.
Awake, my soul! Not only passive praise
Thou owest; not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy. Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake my heart, Awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn!
—Coleridge.
And the evening star was shining
On Schehallion’s distant head,