VII.

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene. For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell, Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green, Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell. Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, Whose long long groves eternal murmur made: And toward the western sun a streamlet fell, Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey'd Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.