bor of men
who gave themselves no time to gaze upon the quiet heavens. One only
of all this busy crowd mingled not in their toil--one only idler
sauntered carelessly along the thronged mart, or wandered listlessly
by the seashore; Adonais alone scorned to bind himself by fetters
which he could not fling aside at his own wild will. Those who loved
the stripling grieved to see him waste the spring-time of life in thus
aimlessly loitering by the way-side; while the old men and sages would
fain have taken from him his ill-used freedom, and shut him up in the
prison-house where they bestowed their madmen, lest his example should
corrupt the youth of the city.

But for all this Adonais cared little. In vain they showed him the
craggy path which traversed the hill of Fame; in vain they set him in
the foul and miry roads which led to the temple of Mammon. He bowed
before their solemn wisdom, but there was a lurking mischief in his
glance as he pointed to his slender limbs, and feigned a shudder of
disgust at the very sight of these rugged and distasteful ways. So at
last he was suffered to wend his own idle course, and save that
careful sires sometimes held him up as a warning to their children,
his fellow-townsmen almost forgot his existence.

Years passed on, and then a beautiful and stately Fane began to rise
in the very heart of the great city. Slowly it rose, and for a while
they who toiled so intently at their daily business, marked not the
white and polished stones which were so gradually and silently piled
together in their midst. It grew, that noble temple, as if by magic.
Every morning dawn shed its rose-tints upon another snowy marble which
had been fixed in its appointed place beneath the light of the quiet
stars. Men wondered somewhat, but they had scarce time to observe, and
none to inquire. So the superb fabric had nearly reached its summit
ere they heard, with unbelieving ears, that the builder of this noble
fane, was none other than Adonais, the idler.

Few gave credence to the tale, for whence could he, the vagrant, and
the dreamer, have drawn those precious marbles, encrusted as they were
with sculpture still more precious, and written over with characters
as inscrutable as they were immortal? Some set themselves to watch for
the Fane-builder, but their eyes were heavy, and at the magic hour
when the artist took up his labors, their senses were fast locked in
slumber. Yet silently, even as the temple of th