“Grieving?—No!
Or as a conqueror mourns a dying foe,
That makes his triumph sure——Couldst thou deplore
The evil done, the pain would be no more;
But an accursed dream has steel’d thy breast,
And all the woman in thy soul suppress’d.”—
“O! it was vision, George; a vision true
As ever seer or holy prophet knew.”—
“Can spirits, lady, though they might alarm, 790
Make an impression on that lovely arm?