Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/218



Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. Childe Harold.

is the might of thy master-spell? Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell! How canst thou wake, by one gentle breath, Passionate visions of love and death!

How callest thou back, with a note, a sigh, Words and low tones from the days gone by— A sunny glance, or a fond farewell?— Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell!