Opening the solemn sources of my soul,
Since I have pour’d, like feign’d Eridanus,[72]
My flowing numbers o’er the flaming skies,
Nor see, of fancy, or of fact, what more
Invites the Muse.—Here turn we, and review
Our past nocturnal landscape wide:—then say,
Say, then, Lorenzo! with what burst of heart,
The whole, at once, revolving in his thought,
Must man exclaim, adoring, and aghast? 1909
“Oh, what a root! Oh, what a branch, is here!