Daily devours apace, and nothing said.
But [that two-handed engine at the door] 130
[Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.”]
[Return, Alpheus]; the dread voice is past
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
[And call the vales], and bid them hither cast
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 135
Ye valleys low, [where the mild whispers use]
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap [the swart star] sparely looks,