Chapter 55 No.55

But through the palm and plantain, hark, a Voice!

Not such as would have been a lover's choice,

In such an hour, to break the air so still;

No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill,

Striking the strings of nature, rock and tree,420

Those best and earliest lyres of Harmony,

With Echo for their chorus; nor the alarm

Of the lo