XIII.

Ye whose souls are strong and firm,

In whom love's electric germ

Has been fanned into a flame

At the mention of a name;

Ye whose souls are still the same

As when first the Victor came,

Stinging every nerve to life,

In the beatific strife,

Till the man's divinest part

Ruled triumphant in the heart,

And, with shrinking, sudden start,

The bleak old world stood apart,

Periling the wild Ideal

By the presence of the Real:

Ye, and ye alone, can know

How these twain souls burn and glow,

Can interpret every throe

Of the full heart's overflow,

That imparts that light serene

To the brow of Mariline.