XXXV

It was a vision.—In the drowsy gloom,

      The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot

Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb

      Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot

Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom

      Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute

From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears

Had made a miry channel for his tears.