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: