The last change passed over his face.

He fell to the ground, sudden and heavy.

The chords THERE, too,--the chords of the human instrument were snapped asunder.

As he fell, his robe brushed the laurel-wreath, and that fell also, near but not in reach of the dead man's nerveless hand.
Broken instrument, broken heart, withered laurel-wreath!--the setting sun through the vine-clad lattice streamed on all! So smiles the eternal Nature on the wrecks of all that make life glorious! And not a sun that sets not somewhere on the silenced music,--on the faded laurel!.