LXXIV.

Gorgeous, yet full of gloom! In such an hour, The vesper-melody of dying bells Wanders through Spain, from each gray convent’s tower O’er shining rivers pour’d and olive dells, By every peasant heard, and muleteer, And hamlet, round my home: and I am here, Living again through all my life’s farewells, In these vast woods, where farewell ne’er was spoken, And sole I lift to heaven a sad heart--yet unbroken!