XXIX.

See where the couchant giant bristling lies, Pyrene with his mountain sides and hair Of forests dense. His crest doth pierce the skies, His limbs are precipices poised in air, His rugged spine full many a peak doth bear; His ribs, huge ridges, part on either hand, His mouths are deep ravines where torrents tear Through rocks a course to Man that seemeth banned. Yet there our heroes march, their brows by Victory fanned.