As struck by magic, is but half as wide;
The tower is shorter, the sonorous bell
Tells not the hour as it was wont to tell;
The market dwindles, every shop and stall
Sinks in my view; there’s littleness in all.
Mine is the error; prepossess’d I see;
And all the change I mourn is change in me.
One object only is the same; the sight
Of the wide Ocean by the moon’s pale light, 90
With her long ray of glory, that we mark