XCVI.

“The owl upon Afrasiab’s towers hath sung Her watch-song,[225] and around th’ imperial throne The spider weaves his web!”--Still darkly hung That verse of omen, as a prophet’s tone, O’er his flush’d spirit. Years on years have flown To prove its truth: kings pile their domes in air, That the coil’d snake may bask on sculptured stone, And nations clear the forest, to prepare For the wild fox and wolf more stately dwellings there!