" "Lone is my house."

Lone were the hills, save where supine The dozing goatherd lay, Or, at a rude and broken shrine, The peasant knelt to pray; Or where athwart the distant blue Thin saffron clouds ascend, As Carbonari, hid from view, Their smouldering embers tend.

Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, Whence thy meek smile is gone