Chrysanthus. 
What a labyrinthine thicket
Is this place that I have entered! 
Nature here takes little trouble,
Letting it be seen how perfect
Is the beauty that arises
Even from nature’s careless efforts: 
Deep within this darksome grotto
Which no sunbeam’s light can enter,
I shall penetrate:  it seemeth
As if until now it never
Had been trod by human footsteps. 
There where yonder marge impendeth
O’er a streamlet that swift-flying
Carries with it the white freshness
Of the snows that from the mountains
Ever in its waves are melted,
Stands almost a skeleton;
The sole difference it presenteth
To the tree-trunks near it is,
That it moves as well as trembles,
Slow and gaunt, a living corse. 
Oh! thou venerable elder
Who, a reason-gifted tree,
Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth.—­

Carpophorus. 
Wo! oh! wo is me!—­a Roman! 
(At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly.)

Chrysanthus. 
Though a Roman, do not dread me: 
With no evil end I seek thee.

Carpophorus. 
Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentle
Roman youth? for thou hast silenced
My first fears even by thy presence.

Chrysanthus. 
’T is to ask, what now I ask thee,
Of the rocks that in this desert
Gape for ever open wide
In eternal yawns incessant,
Which is the rough marble tomb
Of a living corse interred here? 
Which of these dark caves is that
In whose gloom Carpophorus dwelleth? 
’T is important I speak with him.

Carpophorus. 
Then, regarding not the perils,
I will own it.  I myself
Am Carpophorus.

Chrysanthus. 
                 Oh! let me,
Father, feel thy arms enfold me.

Carpophorus. 
To my heart:  for as I press thee,
How, I know not, the mere contact
Brings me back again the freshness
And the greenness of my youth,
Like the vine’s embracing tendrils
Twining round an aged tree: 
Gallant youth, who art thou? tell me.

Chrysanthus. 
Father, I am called Chrysanthus,
Of Polemius, the first member
Of the Roman senate, son.

Carpophorus. 
And thy purpose?

Chrysanthus. 
                  It distresses
Me to see thee standing thus: 
On this bank sit down and rest thee.

Carpophorus. 
Kindly thought of; for, alas! 
I a tottering wall resemble: 
At the mouth of this my cave
Let us then sit down together. [They sit down. 
What now wouldst thou have, Sir Stranger?

Chrysanthus. 
Sir, as long as I remember,
I have felt an inclination
To the love of books and letters. 
In my casual studies lately
I a difficulty met with
That I could not solve, and knowing
No one in all Rome more learn`ed
Than thyself (thy reputation
Having with this truth impressed me)
I have hither come to ask thee
To explain to me this sentence: 
For I cannot understand it. 
’T is, sir, in this book.