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.