Her memory haunted still the fountain,
And spread her shadows o'er the sod.
Her ruins told their tale of glory,
Decreed to that eternal sky;
And through that ancient grove, her story
With sibyl whisper seem'd to sigh.
The pile her wealthiest mourner builded,
In glimpse we caught through ilex gloom—
Metella's Tower, by sunshine gilded,
That beams alike on feast or tomb.