XXIX.
—Delusions are with eloquence endowed,
And yours might pluck an angel from the spheres
To play in this revolt whereto you are vowed,
Deliverer, lady! but like summer dew
O’er fields that crack for rain your friends drop tears,
Who see the awakening for you.
XXX.
—Is he our friend, there silent? he weeps not.
O sir, delusion mounting like a sun