“Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still,
Though oft amid th’ irriguous vale of springs;
But to the mountain courted by the sand,
That leads it darkling on in faithful maze,
Far from the parent main, it boils again!
Fresh into day; and all the glittering hill
Is bright with spouting rills.
The crystal treasures of the liquid world,
Through the stirred sands a bubbling passage burst;
And welling out, around the middle steep,