And deem’d all harmony to centre here,
A Grecian only in her love of art,
Had found that pivot fix’d in Germany.
XVI.
“True Grecian, she!” the sister of Elbert cried;
“Each morning brings her fresh from shrines of art,
All flush’d, a priestess from an oracle,
To sanctify us grosser mortals here
With vague suggestions! mutter’d mysteries!
Ah me, to hear her rave once!”