LXXI.
Soft through the lattice steals a gentle voice,
Breathing his name in accents faint and weak,
Tones that in past days made his soul rejoice,
And now send crimson currents to his cheek.
"Dear vision," said he, "of long cherish'd joys!
"That now so sweetly in my soul dost speak,
"Fade not away, but like a fixëd star,
"Shine on my spirit from thy heavens afar.