In manners as in mind, your Tully was," Said Saul; "Cilicia keeps his memory green For virtues long in Roman rulers rare. His too a sounding, stately eloquence, And copious; but Greek Demosthenes Pleases me better, with that stormy stress Of passion in him, reason on fire with love Or hatred, that indignant vehemence Which overwhelms us like a torrent flood, Or, like a torrent flood, upon its breast Lifts us, and tosses us, and bears us on! He is more like our Hebrew prophets rapt Above themselves in sympathy with God." In talk like this the livelong day was spent; Hardly the talkers heeding when they passed Meadows of flowers pied rich in colors gay, Poppy, anemone, convolvulus, Bright marigold wide yellowing belts of green Into a vivid gold that dazed the eye; And heeding hardly if upsprang the lark From almost underneath their horses' hoofs, Startled to leave her humble hiding nest, And, soaring, better hide her otherwise Amid the blinding lightnings of the sun; Such sights and sounds and glancing motions swift Scarce heeded--yet, as subtle influence, Admitted, each, to infuse insensibly Into their mood an added joyousness-- The afternoon declined into the eve. Passed now a fountain on the wayside cliff, Coyly, through ferny leafage, shedding down Its weeping waters shown in fresher green, Up a long glen they mounted to a crest Of hill where opened a soft grassy plain-- Inviting, should one wish his tent to spread-- And here they twain their double camp bid pitch. Supper soon ended, Saul and Sergius, Ere sleep they seek, a hill, not far, ascend, The highest neighboring seen, less thence to view The landscape round them in the deepening dark Glooming, or even the heavens above their heads Brightening each moment in the deepening dark, Than youth's unused excess of strength to ease With exercise, and to achieve the highest. But there the splendors of the firmament, Enlarged so lustrous through that Syrian sky, Hailed such a storm of vertical starlight Downward upon their sense as through their sense Inward into their soul beat, and a while Mute held them, hushed with wonder and with awe, Awe to the Hebrew, to the Roman, joy. Then said the Roman: "This is like that place Of glorious Homer where he hangs the sky Innumerably bright with moon and stars Over the Trojan host and their camp-fires: