Burst from the mountains’ inner reservoirs.
’Twas very good to see those watery Druids
Destroy that haughty host, with roaring fluids!”
. . . . . .
But now, those noisy trumpeters, the Hours,
Blew the reveillé through the camps of morn:
Now storm-girt Taurus raised his icy horn,
Like blazing silver, o’er the mists and showers;
And sunlight struck the unclouded mountain towers,
Which ranged the circuit of that snowy wall: