XXXVII.

It is a night of beauty: such a night As, from the sparry grot or laurel-shade, Or wave in marbled cavern rippling bright, Might woo the nymphs of Grecian fount and glade To sport beneath its moonbeams, which pervade Their forest haunts; a night to rove alone Where the young leaves by vernal winds are sway’d, And the reeds whisper with a dreamy tone Of melody that seems to breathe from worlds unknown;