Chapter XV

Or, did it break with soft and silvery shower
The silence of some marble solitude,
Where Adrian, at the fire fly's glittering hour,
Of rumour'd worlds to come the doubts review'd?
Go mark his tomb!--in that sepulchral mole
Scowls the fell bandit:--from its towering height
Old Tiber's flood reflects the girandole,
Midst bells, and shouts, and rockets' arrowy flight!