XIX.

He sate him down at a pillar's base,[364] And passed his hand athwart his face; Like one in dreary musing mood, Declining was his attitude; 510 His head was drooping on his breast, Fevered, throbbing, and oppressed; And o'er his brow, so downward bent, Oft his beating fingers went, Hurriedly, as you may see Your own run over the ivory key, Ere the measured tone is taken By the chords you would awaken. There he sate all heavily, As he heard the night-wind sigh. 520 Was it the wind through some hollow stone,[ps] Sent that soft and tender moan?[365] He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea, But it was unrippled as glass may be; He looked on the long grass--it waved not a blade; How was that gentle sound conveyed? He looked to the banners--each flag lay still, So did the leaves on Cithæron's hill, And he felt not a breath come over his cheek; What did that sudden sound bespeak? 530 He turned to the left--is he sure of sight? There sate a lady, youthful and bright![pt][366]