Places which pale passion loves,
Moonlight walks when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls,
A midnight bell, a parting groan,
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley:
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
[119] The first stanza of this song was probably Shakspere's.
[120] This should be compared with Milton's Il Penserosa.
CÆSAR'S LAMENT OVER POMPEY.
[From The False One.]