tears. 
  From Bruno’s forest screams the frighted jay,
  And slow th’ insulted eagle wheels away. 
  The cross with hideous laughter Demons mock, 70
  By [D] angels planted on the aereal rock. 
  The “parting Genius” sighs with hollow breath
  Along the mystic streams of [E] Life and Death. 
  Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds
  Portentous, thro’ her old woods’ trackless bounds, 75
  Deepening her echoing torrents’ awful peal
  And bidding paler shades her form conceal,
  [F] Vallombre, mid her falling fanes, deplores,
  For ever broke, the sabbath of her bow’rs.

  More pleas’d, my foot the hidden margin roves 80
  Of Como bosom’d deep in chesnut groves. 
  No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps
  Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow deeps. 
  To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complain,
  To ringing team unknown and grating wain, 85
  To flat-roof’d towns, that touch the water’s bound,
  Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,
  Or from the bending rocks obtrusive cling,
  And o’er the whiten’d wave their shadows fling;
  Wild round the steeps the little [G] pathway twines, 90
  And Silence loves it’s purple roof of vines. 
  The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees
  From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees;
  Or marks, mid opening cliffs, fair dark-ey’d maids
  Tend the small harvest of their garden glades, 95
  Or, led by distant warbling notes, surveys,
  With hollow ringing ears and darkening gaze,
  Binding the charmed soul in powerless trance,
  Lip-dewing Song and ringlet-tossing Dance,
  Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume 100
  The bosom’d cabin’s lyre-enliven’d gloom;
  Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view
  Stretch, o’er their pictur’d mirror, broad and blue,
  Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep,
  As up th’ opposing hills, with tortoise foot, they creep. 105
  Here half a village shines, in gold array’d,
  Bright as the moon, half hides itself in shade. 
  From the dark sylvan roofs the restless spire
  Inconstant glancing, mounts like springing fire. 
  There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw no 110
  Rich golden verdure on the waves below. 
  Slow glides the sail along th’ illumin’d shore,
  And steals into the shade the lazy oar. 
  Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,
  And amourous music on the water dies. 115
  Heedless how Pliny, musing here, survey’d
  Old Roman boats and figures thro’ the shade,
  Pale Passion, overpower’d, retires and woos
  The thicket, where th’ unlisten’d stock-dove coos.