LXXVIII.

More hush’d, far more!--for there the wind sweeps by, Or the woods tremble to the streams’ loud play; Here a strange echo made my very sigh Seem for the place too much a sound of day! Too much my footsteps broke the moonlight, fading, Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading. And I stood still: prayer, chant had died away; Yet past me floated a funereal breath Of incense. I stood still--as before God and death.