148
Count Julio.
Its princely revels, he had left the feast,
Bidding the bright wine that he quaffed in parting
Be to him thence accursed. Never more
Checked he his courser by the Tiber's banks,
Nor struck the sweet chords of his lute, nor trod
Glad measures with the bright-lipped Roman dames.
And from the lintels of his banquet hall
The spider balanced on her gossamer thread;
Dust heaped the silken couches; and where swept
Golden fringed curtains to the chequered floor,
The rat gnawed silently, and gray moths fed
On the rich produce of the Indian loom.
Men shunned his threshold, and his palace doors
Creaked on their rusty hinges. Prince and peasant
Alike turned coldly at his coming step.
The very beggar that at noontide lay
Basking 'neath sunlight in the quiet street,
Stretched not his hand forth as the miser passed.
Bidding the bright wine that he quaffed in parting
Be to him thence accursed. Never more
Checked he his courser by the Tiber's banks,
Nor struck the sweet chords of his lute, nor trod
Glad measures with the bright-lipped Roman dames.
And from the lintels of his banquet hall
The spider balanced on her gossamer thread;
Dust heaped the silken couches; and where swept
Golden fringed curtains to the chequered floor,
The rat gnawed silently, and gray moths fed
On the rich produce of the Indian loom.
Men shunned his threshold, and his palace doors
Creaked on their rusty hinges. Prince and peasant
Alike turned coldly at his coming step.
The very beggar that at noontide lay
Basking 'neath sunlight in the quiet street,
Stretched not his hand forth as the miser passed.
He cared not for their scorn; man's breath to him
Was as the wind that sweeps a blasted oak
And finds no leaf to flutter. Fate had left
Was as the wind that sweeps a blasted oak
And finds no leaf to flutter. Fate had left
