262
FRAGMENTS.
And watched the laden branches bending,
And heard the vintage songs ascending;
'Tis very long since I have seen
The ivy's death-wreath, cold and green,
Hung round the old and broken stone
Raised by the hands now dead and gone!
I do remember one lone spot, }
By most unnoticed or forgot—}
Would that I too recalled it not!}
It was a little temple, gray,
With half its pillars worn away,
No roof left, but one cypress-tree
Flinging its branches mournfully.
In ancient days this was a shrine
For goddess or for nymph divine;
