That seemed with its fierce, lidless eye
Fixed—fixed forever in the sky
Which, circling round the Italian shore,
Was only made for bliss before:
But now it darkled like a shroud
By demon-hands in warning shaken,
From their lone, scowling thunder-cloud
Ere yet its elements awaken.
Oh! was it Fancy? or a spell
Hurled o’er me by some dreadful power,—