XCVIII.
Then whilst the melancholy Muse withal
Resumes her music in a sadder tone,
Meanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wall,
Conceive that lovely siren to live on,
Ev'n as Hope whisper'd, the Promethean light
Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright.
XCIX.
"'Tis light," she says, "that feeds the glittering stars,
And those were stars set in his heavenly brow;