XIV.

There by some lake, whose blue expansive breast

Bright from afar, an inland ocean, gleams,

Girt with vast solitudes, profusely dress’d

In tints like those that float o’er poet’s dreams;

Or where some flood from pine-clad mountain pours

Its might of waters, glittering in their foam,

Midst the rich verdure of its wooded shores,

The exiled Greek hath fix’d his sylvan home:

So deeply lone, that round the wild retreat

Scarce have the paths been trod by Indian huntsman’s feet.