And play the prelude of our fate. We hear
The voice prophetic, and are not alone.
Pre. That is my faith. Dost thou believe these warnings?
Vic. So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts
Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present.
As drops of rain fall into some dark well,
And from below comes a scarce audible sound—
So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter,
And their mysterious echo reaches us.
Pre. I’ve felt it so, but found no words to say it!