Unbridged by frost, no passage do they show,
And far about the anxious wanderers go.
XII.
The sun from middle skies now downward bent
His course, and for a while on lofty ground
They rested, and abroad their glances sent
Far o’er the sea of forest that embrowned
The landscape. The overarching firmament,
The woody waste enclaspt with azure round,
And yon bright sun, yon eagle soaring high,