The clusters, and the vines supported, stood
By poles of silver set in even rows.
The trench he color’d sable, and around
Fenced it with tin. One only path it show’d
By which the gatherers, when they stripp’d the vines,
Pass’d and repass’d. There, youths and maidens blithe,
In pails of wicker bore the luscious fruit,
While in the midst a boy, on his shrill harp,
Harmonious play’d; still as he struck the chord,
Carolling to it with a slender voice,