A pleasant air,
That intermitted never, never veered,
Smote on my temples gently, as a wind
Of softest influence, at which the sprays,
Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part
Where first the holy mountain casts his shade;
Yet were not so disordered; but that still
Upon their top the feather'd quiristers
Applied their wonted art, and with full joy
Welcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrill
Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays
Kept tenour; even as from branch to branch
Along the piny forests on the shore
Of Chiassi rolls the gathering melody,
When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed
The dripping south. Already had my steps,
Tho' slow, so far into that ancient wood
Transported me, I could not ken the place
Where I had enter'd; when behold! my path
Was bounded by a rill, which to the left
With little rippling waters bent the grass
That issued from its brink.
and this of the heavenly Paradise:
I looked,
And, in the likeness of a river, saw
Light flowing, from whose amber-seeming waves
Flash'd up effulgence, as they glided on
'Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring,
Incredible how fair; and, from the tide,
There, ever and anon outstarting, flew
Sparkles instinct with life; and in the flowers
Did set them, like to rubies chased in gold;
Then, as if drunk with odours, plunged again
Into the wondrous flood, from which, as one
Re-entered, still another rose.
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