XXXIII.

Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dyed, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied, Where fays, of yore, their revels wont to keep; And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep A vision brought to his entranced sight. And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright, With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of night.