The melancholy which Victor Hugo pronounces a distinguishing badge of romantic art, and which we shall see gaining more and more upon English poetry as the century advanced, is also discernible in "The Seasons" in a passage like the following: "O bear me then to vast embowering shades, To twilight groves and visionary vales, To weeping grottos and prophetic glooms; Where angel-forms athwart the solemn dusk Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along; And voices more than human, through the void, Deep-sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear;"[23] or this, which recalls "Il Penseroso": "Now all amid the rigors of the year, In the wild depth of winter, while without The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat Between the groaning forest and the shore, Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, A rural, sheltered, solitary scene; Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit And hold high converse with the mighty dead."[24] The revival again, of the preternatural and of popular superstitions as literary material, after a rationalizing and skeptical age, is signalized by such a passage as this: "Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height, And valley sunk and unfrequented, where At fall of eve the fairy people throng, In various game and revelry to pass The summer night, as village stories tell. But far around they wander from the grave Of him whom his ungentle fortune urged Against his own sad breast to life the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower Is also shunned, whose mournful chambers hold, So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost." It may not be uninstructive to note the occurrence of the word _romantic_ at several points in the poem: "glimmering shades and sympathetic glooms, Where the dim umbrage o'er the falling stream Romantic hangs."[25] This is from a passage in which romantic love once more comes back into poetry, after its long eclipse; and in which the lover is depicted as wandering abroad at "pensive dusk," or by moonlight, through groves and along brooksides.[26] The word is applied likewise to clouds, "rolled into romantic shapes, the dream of waking fancy"; and to the scenery of Scotland--"Caledonia in romantic view." In a subtler way, the feeling of such lines as these is romantic: "Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon;" or these, of the comparative lightness of the summer night: "A faint, erroneous ray, Glanced from the imperfect surfaces of things, Flings half an image on the straining eye." In a letter to Stonehewer (June 29, 1760), Gray comments thus upon a passage from Ossian: "'Ghosts ride on the tempest to-night: Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind: _Their songs are of other worlds._'