Of that stormshapen pyramid so high,
’Twas evening, and with footsteps slow and lame
They gather’d up their lagging company:
And then her sire, even as Apollo bade,
Set on the topmost rock the hapless maid,
With trembling hands and melancholy cry.
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And now the sun was sunk; only the peak
Flash’d like a jewel in the deepening blue:
And from the shade beneath none dared to speak,