III.

But not our filmy pinion We scorch amid the blaze of day When noon-tide’s fiery-tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray. Aye from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat, O’ercanopied by huge roots intertwined With wildest texture, blackened o’er with age; Round them their mantles green the ivies bind, Beneath whose foliage pale, Fanned by the unfrequent gale, We shield us from the tyrant’s mid-day rage.