Tibur is beautiful, too, and the orchard slopes, and the Anio Falling, falling yet, to the ancient lyrical cadence; Tibur and Anio’s tide; and cool from Lucretilis ever, With the Digentian stream, and with the Bandusian fountain, Folded in Sabine recesses, the valley and villa of Horace:— So not seeing I sang; so seeing and listening say I, Here as I sit by the stream, as I gaze at the cell of the Sibyl, Here with Albunea’s home and the grove of Tiburnus beside me;[14] Tivoli beautiful is, and musical, O Teverone, Dashing from mountain to plain, thy parted impetuous waters, Tivoli’s waters and rocks; and fair unto Monte Gennaro (Haunt, even yet, I must think, as I wander and gaze, of the shadows, Faded and pale, yet immortal, of Faunus, the Nymphs, and the Graces), Fair in itself, and yet fairer with human completing creations, Folded in Sabine recesses the valley and villa of Horace:— So not seeing I sang; so now—Nor seeing, nor hearing, Neither by waterfall lulled, nor folded in sylvan embraces, Neither by cell of the Sibyl, nor stepping the Monte Gennaro, Seated on Anio’s bank, nor sipping Bandusian waters, But on Montorio’s height, looking down on the tile-clad streets, the Cupolas, crosses, and domes, the bushes and kitchen-gardens, Which, by the grace of the Tibur, proclaim themselves Rome of the Romans,— But on Montorio’s height, looking forth to the vapoury mountains, Cheating the prisoner Hope with illusions of vision and fancy,— But on Montorio’s height, with these weary soldiers by me, Waiting till Oudinot enter, to reinstate Pope and Tourist. XII. MARY TREVELLYN TO MISS ROPER. Dear Miss Roper,—It seems, George Vernon, before we left Rome, said Something to Mr. Claude about what they call his attentions. Susan, two nights ago, for the first time, heard this from Georgina. It is _so_ disagreeable and _so_ annoying to think of! If it could only be known, though we may never meet him again, that It was all George’s doing, and we were entirely unconscious, It would extremely relieve—Your ever affectionate Mary. P.S. (1) Here is your letter arrived this moment, just as I wanted. So you have seen him,—indeed, and guessed,—how dreadfully clever! What did he really say? and what was your answer exactly? Charming!—but wait for a moment, I haven’t read through the letter. P.S. (2) Ah, my dearest Miss Roper, do just as you fancy about it. If you think it sincerer to tell him I know of it, do so. Though I should most extremely dislike it, I know I could manage. It is the simplest thing, but surely wholly uncalled for Do as you please; you know I trust implicitly to you. Say whatever is right and needful for ending the matter. Only don’t tell Mr. Claude, what I will tell you as a secret, That I should like very well to show him myself I forget it.