II.
But to each one it fell (we know not how;
'Tis said it was the spirit of that land)
That soon his pristine ardour died away;
It seemed almost as if the mouldering walls
Of that Peking, which typifies decay,
Shut out all purpose, shutting in the man—
As if each roof, in that foul street, where lodge
The envoys of proud states, had thrown the shade
Of apathy on those, who dwelt below,