A joy of sunlight shed.
Let me, then—let me dream
That love goes with us to the shore unknown;
So o’er its burning tears a heavenly gleam
In mercy shall be thrown!
THE VOICE OF MUSIC.
“Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.”
Childe Harold.
Whence is the might of thy master-spell?
Speak to me, voice of sweet sound! and tell: