Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood—but that there the Soul discerns
The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired
Of her own native vigour; thence can hear[819]
Reverberations; and a choral song,
Commingling with the incense that ascends,
Undaunted, toward[820] the imperishable heavens,
From her own lonely altar?
"Do not think
That good and wise ever will be allowed,[821]