The Earth to them was as a rolling bark From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps The Earth to them was as a rolling bark From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en— A little rill of scanty stream and bed— 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 Of the most living crystal that was e'er Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear And most serene of aspect, and most clear; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughtersA 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 LXVIII. Pass not unbless'd the Genius of the place! If through the air a zephyr more serene 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. |