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That blaz'd one moment sky-ward, and the next,
Made with its dying all the wood more dim.
Well, I have told my message, so farewell.


(Sylvester moves in his sleep, sighs and wakes.)


Sylvester:

It was a dream, a dream foreboding, what?
These last few days I've had a brooding sense
A strange, confus'd, distracted memory,
Of obscure ominous presages half-forgot,
Like warning of too-late remember'd dream,
Equivocal menace of a half-caught word
Of threatening danger vizarded and veil'd,
Whisper'd by muffled dancers at a masque.


Lenore:

Ah, yet Sylvester, it is not too late,
To take the warning, only pray and weep,
'Ere the long-boded meaning break on you