Along this hall, and up and down, some, squatted Upon their hams, were occupied at chess; Others in monosyllable talk chatted, And some seemed much in love with their own dress; And divers smoked superb pipes decorated With amber mouths of greater price or less; And several strutted, others slept, and some Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.[285] LIV. As the black eunuch entered with his brace Of purchased Infidels, some raised their eyes A moment, without slackening from their pace; But those who sate ne'er stirred in any wise: One or two stared the captives in the face, Just as one views a horse to guess his price; Some nodded to the negro from their station, But no one troubled him with conversation.[286] LV. He leads them through the hall, and, without stopping, On through a farther range of goodly rooms, Splendid, but silent, save in _one_, where dropping[287] A marble fountain echoes through the glooms Of night which robe the chamber, or where popping Some female head most curiously presumes To thrust its black eyes through the door or lattice, As wondering what the _devil_ noise that is! LVI. Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls Gave light enough to hint their farther way, But not enough to show the imperial halls In all the flashing of their full array; Perhaps there's nothing--I'll not say appals, But saddens more by night as well as day, Than an enormous room without a soul[288] To break the lifeless splendour of the whole. LVII. Two or three seem so little, _one_ seems nothing: In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore, _There_ Solitude, we know, has her full growth in The spots which were her realms for evermore; But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in More modern buildings and those built of yore, A kind of Death comes o'er us all alone, Seeing what's meant for many with but one. LVIII. A neat, snug study on a winter's night,[fb] A book, friend, single lady, or a glass Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, Are things which make an English evening pass-- Though _certes_ by no means so grand a sight As is a theatre lit up by gas-- _I_ pass my evenings in long galleries solely,[fc][289] And that's the reason I'm so melancholy. LIX. Alas! Man makes that great which makes him little-- I grant you in a church 't is very well: What speaks of Heaven should by no means be brittle, But strong and lasting, till no tongue can tell Their names who reared it; but huge houses fit ill, And huge tombs, worse, Mankind--since Adam fell: Methinks the story of the tower of Babel Might teach them this much better than I'm able.