—At times the passion-kindled melody
Might seem to gush from Sappho’s fervent heart,
Over the wild sea-wave;—at times the strain
Flow’d with more plaintive sweetness, as if born
Of Petrarch’s voice, beside the lone Vaucluse;
And sometimes, with its melancholy swell,
A graver sound was mingled, a deep note
Of Tasso’s holy lyre. Yet still the tones
Were of a suppliant—“Leave me not!” was still
The burden of their music; and I knew