So leave we that still picture on the eye; 66 And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song Points to the walls of Time's long gallery: And the dim Beautiful of Eld--too long Mouldering unheeded in these later days, Starts from the canvass, bright'ning as we gaze. O lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 67 As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams; He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue And that harmonious colour-wand which seems Pluck'd from the god's own wing!--Arcades and bowers, Mellifluous waters, lapsing amidst flowers, Or springing up, in multiform disport, 68 From murmurous founts, delightedly at play; As if the Naiad held her joyous court To greet the goddess whom the flowers obey; And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, Bell'd like the blossom--branching like the tree. Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 69 Of all the painted populace of air, Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings Or mocks the iris with its plumes,--is there-- Music and air so interfused and blent, That music seems life's breathing element. And every alley's stately vista closed 70 With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base Beauty, not earth's, benignantly reposed, As if the gods were native to the place; And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, Whose presence brings no discord to the scene! Oh, fair they are, if mortal forms they be! 71 Mine eye the lovely error must beguile; So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea[5] Came Aphrodite to the rosy isle. What time they left Olympian halls above, To greet on earth their best beguiler--Love? Are they the Oreads from the Delphian steep 72 Waiting their goddess of the silver bow? Or shy Napaeae,[6] startled from their sleep, Where blue Cithaeron guards sweet vales below, Watching as home, from vanquished Ind afar, Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car? Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers? 73 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band, With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers, And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand, And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, Like starry buds from the loose crown of May? Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 74 From all the ruder world that lies afar; Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen; Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star! What pass admits the stranger to your land? Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band?