To such as they! Lo, built of candent fire
The Old Manse drops its Mosses at his feet;
Italia’s strange physician whispers now
Of potent herb and flower. The Puritan,
His wonted sternness softened, deigns to tell
Of old-time guilt—the Scarlet Letter’s brand—
Till, glancing up, he shudders at the approach
Of stricken Hester, with her demon child.
So wanes the night. In quick succession move
Shades of the mighty dead before my eyes.