Is best: The lightest then; what bears the touch
Of fire the least, and soonest mounts in air; 410
The most insipid; the most void of smell.
Such the rude mountain from his horrid sides
Pours down; such waters in the sandy vale
For ever boil, alike of winter frosts
And summer’s heat secure. The lucid stream, 415
O’er rocks resounding, or for many a mile
Hurl’d down the pebbly channel, wholesome yields
And mellow draughts; except when winter thaws,