Not a leaf whisper’d—and the only sound
That broke the stillness was a streamlet’s moan
Murmuring amidst the rocks with plaintive tone,
As if a storm within the woodland bowers
Were gathering. On they moved—and lo! the towers
Of a far city! Nearer now they drew;
And all reveal’d, expanding on their view,
The Babylon, the scene of crimes and woes—
Paris, the guilty, the devoted, rose!
In the dark mantle of a cloud array’d,