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!