As chance will have it, on the rock or sand,—

For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world,

And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.

Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.

Such souls,

Whose sudden visitations daze the world,

Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind

A voice that in the distance far away

Wakens the slumbering ages.

Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 7.