In tenderest falls away. Oh, bring thy harp,
Sister! A gentle heaviness at last
Hath touch’d mine eyelids: sing to me, and sleep
Will come again.
Jessy. What wouldst thou hear?—the Italian peasant’s lay,
Which makes the desolate Campagna ring
With “Roma! Roma!” or the madrigal
Warbled on moonlight seas of Sicily?
Or the old ditty left by troubadours
To girls of Languedoc?