And her heart answer’d! Oh! the voice is known
First from all else, and swiftest to restore
Love’s buried images, with one low tone
That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded,
And the brow heavily with thought o’ershaded,
And all the brightness from the aspect gone!
—Upon my breast she sunk, when doubt was fled,
Weeping as those may weep, that meet in woe and dread.
XXVIII.
For there we might not rest. Alas! to leave