And joy and music with the fountain went,
While in a still enchantment on its throne
The lucid statue cold and stately shone.
Love lent her, too, th’ enchanted lute he played
And she would let her light hand float at will
Across its chords of silver, half afraid,
Like a white lily on a murmuring rill,
Till Music’s soul, waked by that touch, took wing,
And mingling with it hers would soar and sing—
“Dost thou see—dost thou feel—oh, mine idol divine,