And tinged the lakes like molten gold below.
Warmth flushed the wonted regions of the storm,
Where, Phœnix-like, you saw the eagle’s form,
That high in Heaven’s vermilion wheeled and soared.
Woods nearer frowned, and cataracts dashed and roared,
From heights browsed by the bounding bouquetin;[65]
Herds tinkling roamed the long-drawn vales between,
And hamlets glittered white, and gardens flourished green.
’Twas transport to inhale the bright sweet air!
The mountain-bee was revelling in its glare,