SONNET CCXVIII.
Reading edition
Far potess' io vendetta di colei.
HIS SOUL VISITS HER IN SLEEP.
Oh! that from her some vengeance I could wrest With words and glances who my peace destroys, And then abash'd, for my worse sorrow, flies, Veiling her eyes so cruel, yet so blest; Thus mine afflicted spirits and oppress'd By sure degrees she sorely drains and dries, And in my heart, as savage lion, cries Even at night, when most I should have rest. My soul, which sleep expels from his abode, The body leaves, and, from its trammels free, Seeks her whose mien so often menace show'd. I marvel much, if heard its advent be, That while to her it spake, and o'er her wept, And round her clung, asleep she alway kept. Macgregor.