"Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East Guilds every lofty top, which late the humorous Night Bespangled had with pearle, to please the Mornings sight; On which the mirthfull Quires, with their cleere open throats, Unto the joyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes, That Hills and Valleys ring, and even the ecchoing Ayre Seemes all compos'd of sounds, about them everywhere.... Thus sing away the Morne, untill the mounting Sunne, Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne, And through the twisted tops of our close Covert creeps, To kiss the gentle Shade, this while that sweetly sleeps."[330] A step further, and you will find the old gods reappear. They reappear, these living gods--these living gods mingled with things which you cannot help meeting as soon as you meet nature again. Shakespeare, in the "Tempest," sings: "Ceres, most bounteous lady thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with peoned and lilied brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns... Hail, many-colour'd messenger (Iris)... Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers, And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down."[331] In "Cymbeline" he says: "They are as gentle as zephyrs, blowing below the violet. Not wagging his sweet head."[332] Greene writes: "When Flora, proud in pomp of all her flowers, Sat bright and gay, And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers, And did display Her mantle chequered all with gaudy green."[333] The same author also says: "How oft have I descending Titan seen, His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap; And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap In watery robes, as he her lord had been!"[334] So Spenser, in his "Faërie Queene," sings: "The joyous day gan early to appeare; And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red: Her golden locks, for hast, were loosely shed About her eares, when Una her did marke Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred, From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke; With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke."[335] All the splendor and sweetness of this moist and well-watered land; all the specialties, the opulence of its dissolving tints, of its variable sky, its luxuriant vegetation, assemble thus about the gods, who gave them their beautiful form.