A HISTORY OF THE LYRE.
89
And music is to them an element.
—I saw Eulalia: all was in the scene
Graceful association, slight surprise,
That are so much in youth. It was in June,
Night, but such night as only is not day,—
For moonlight, even when most clear, is sad:
We cannot but contrast its still repose
With the unceasing turmoil in ourselves.
—We stood beside a cypress, whose green spire
Rose like a funeral column o'er the dead.
Near was a fallen palace—stain'd and gray
The marble show'd amid the tender leaves
Of ivy but just shooting; yet there stood
Pillars unbroken, two or three vast halls,
Entire enough to cast a deep black shade;
And a few statues, beautiful but cold,—
