XIV.

There by some lake, whose blue expansive breast Bright from afar, an inland ocean, gleams, Girt with vast solitudes, profusely dress’d In tints like those that float o’er poet’s dreams; Or where some flood from pine-clad mountain pours Its might of waters, glittering in their foam, Midst the rich verdure of its wooded shores, The exiled Greek hath fix’d his sylvan home: So deeply lone, that round the wild retreat Scarce have the paths been trod by Indian huntsman’s feet.