"Thus, on deceitful Aetna's Flow'ry side Unfading verdure glads the roving eye, While secret flames with unextinguish'd rage Insatiate on her wafted entrails prey, And melt her treach'rous beauties into ruin.

Lines 380-385 were previously: I see him, up the midway cliff he creeps To where a scanty knot of verdure peeps, Thence down the steep a pile of grass he throws, The fodder of his herds in winter snows.

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er Heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole, O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head.

A small clump of mangrove-trees on the beach was the first sign of vegetation that we had seen; and, from the absence of verdure hereabout, is a conspicuous object.

Though pleasant and beautiful as retreats to those who can command an entrance, these circumscribed patches of verdure offend rather than please the eye, when viewed from a distance.

The sun needs these savannas in order properly to spread out its light; from the rising exhalation, you feel that the whole plain is fermenting under its force; and the eyes, filled by the limitless horizon, divine the secret labor by which this ocean of rank verdure renews and nourishes itself.

From the moist meadow to the withered hill, Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, And swells and deepens to the cherished eye.

Perchance we fain would pass unnoticed That which in Autumn drooped and pined, Now radiant in verdure springing, Since it must of our loss remind; As with a tortured soul we realize In Nature's glad awakening, That we shall never find renewal, Who evermore are withering.

"Slow in the breeze I see the verdure wave "That shrouds with tufted grass, my lover's grave: "There, on its wand'ring wing in mildness blows 95 "The mournful gale, nor wakes his deep repose "And see, yon hoary form still lingers there!

no verdure blooms Upon the withered bough.

Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept.

And then I spied in the lush green below Its tortured belly, One, like silver, pale, With fingers closed upon a rope of straw, That bound the Beast, squat neck to hoary tail; Lonely in all that verdure faint and deep, He watched the monster as a shepherd sheep.

" The gates of precious stone unfold, The streets are paved with shining gold; Pure crystal streams of water flow, And trees of fadeless verdure grow.