With this had pupils fill’d his vacant hours
And, far away, an organ, play’d at Mass,
Besiren’d all the Sundays. Thus cheer’d on,
His brighten’d prospects had renew’d the charms
Of music rivalling all things else with him.
Full often, could we watch him, listless, gaze,
Ay, even toward Doretta’s voice and form;
Then turn, like one bewildered by a dream
Fast-closing every sense to all besides,
And seek our small bare attic, where anon,