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The chaplet of bronze.
Took up the strain, the multitude o'erwhelmed it
With a continuous thunder.
Soft, a voice!
And through the distant scenery came a form
That paused midway, arid with white, lifted arms
Held up what seemed a crown of woven leaves.
Then "Marcia! Marcia!" fled from lip to lip,
And with the tempest of her shouted name
The high walls trembled. Her magnificent head
Bent to the crowd's applauses, as the prow
Of some grand vessel sinks to meet the waves;
And lifting high the wreath, she cried, " Come hither!
Hither, Amalia!"
With meek folded arms,
Low bent the singer.
Yet suspended hung
Over her brow the fatal type of fame,
The laurel crown, till Marcia smiled. It fell,—
Not fluttering slow, but with a sudden quickness.
And as it dropped, loud thunders of applause
Blent with the crash of music. Some stood still;
For through the tumult a prolonged wild shriek
With a continuous thunder.
Soft, a voice!
And through the distant scenery came a form
That paused midway, arid with white, lifted arms
Held up what seemed a crown of woven leaves.
Then "Marcia! Marcia!" fled from lip to lip,
And with the tempest of her shouted name
The high walls trembled. Her magnificent head
Bent to the crowd's applauses, as the prow
Of some grand vessel sinks to meet the waves;
And lifting high the wreath, she cried, " Come hither!
Hither, Amalia!"
With meek folded arms,
Low bent the singer.
Yet suspended hung
Over her brow the fatal type of fame,
The laurel crown, till Marcia smiled. It fell,—
Not fluttering slow, but with a sudden quickness.
And as it dropped, loud thunders of applause
Blent with the crash of music. Some stood still;
For through the tumult a prolonged wild shriek
