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Then as the traveller muses out his short space of rest, the vision grows confused, and Rome's huge ghosts go stalking, galloping, clanging, raving through the surging dream-throng, Cæsar, Brutus, Pompey, Catiline, Cicero, Caligula, Vitellius, Hadrian, and close upon them Gauls and Goths and Huns, and all barbarians, till the dream is a medley of school-learned names, that have suddenly taken shadows of great faces out of Rome's shadow storehouse, and gorgeous arms and streaming draperies, and all at once the sight-seer shivers as the sun goes down, and passes his hand over his eyes, and shakes himself, and goes away rather hastily, lest he should fall sick of a fever and himself be gathered to the ghosts he has seen.
The thousand moorland things are silence keeping, The beasts under each bush Crouch, and the hived bees Rest in their honeyed ease; In the purple sea fish lie as they were dead, And each bird folds his wing over his head.” The school-learned lines of Alcman, with a thousand other trivial things, swarmed back through the head of Glaucon the Alcmæonid.
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