It might the fancy of some god rejoice;
Like to those halls which lame Hephæstos wrought,
Original, for each god to his choice,
In high Olympus; where his matchless lyre
Apollo wakes, and the responsive choir
Of Muses sing alternate with sweet voice.
7
Wondering she drew anigh, and in a while
Went up the steps as she would entrance win,
And faced her shadow ’neath the peristyle