LX. What is her pyramid of precious stones? (34) Are gently prest with far more reverent tread LXI. There be more things to greet the heart and eyes My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields LXII. Is of another temper, and I roam And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o'er, LXIII. Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds; Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet! LXIV. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity; they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words. LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain; Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters red. LXVI. But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave (36) Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters! And most serene of aspect, and most clear; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters— A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters! LXVII. And on thy happy shore a temple still, Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. LXVIII. Pass not unblest the Genius of the place! Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloquent green, If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Nature's baptism,-'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. LXIX. The roar of waters!-from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; The fall of waters! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, |