XLVIII.
Oh glow of Victory! oh, thrilling pride
Of triumph in the strife of mind or hand!
More dear to mortal breasts than all beside,
In mart or senate as in warlike band,
In court or cell—where’er by conquest fanned
The swelling temples wear thy plume, Success!
How pure thy throb when Freedom lights a land,
When pen, tongue, sword a cause sublime confess,
Well worthy to aspire, befitting Heaven to bless!