Of strife and maddening hope of victory?
There thrills an echo of the pulse, the tone,
That universal man exults to own,
A voice which teaches craven souls that War
For right than guilty Peace is holier far;
Nor suffers them to breathe and pass away
As dust that ne’er forsook its primal clay.
The lines that follow next were printed in 1852, after the divorce trial:
TO EDWIN FORREST.
In every soul where Poesy and Beauty find a place,