XXII.

His step had track’d the waste, his soul had stirr’d The ancient solitudes--his voice had told Of wrongs to call down heaven.[234] That tale was heard In Hasli’s dales, and where the shepherds’ fold Their flocks in dark ravine and craggy hold On the bleak Oberland; and where the light Of day’s last footsteps bathes in burning gold Great Righi’s cliffs; and where Mount Pilate’s height Casts o’er his glassy lake the darkness of his might.