And my restless sprite on the beacon’s height,
For a space is doomed to dwell.
“At our trysting-place, for a certain space,
I must wander to and fro;
But I had not had power to come to thy bower,
Hadst thou not conjured me so.”—
Love mastered fear—her brow she crossed;
“How, Richard, hast thou sped?
And art thou saved, or art thou lost?”
The vision shook his head!