Through archway rude an outlet last they found, Like some old porch by Saxon built of yore, By which amazed, they entering gazed around, Scene of enchantment that did on them pour; From whose high dazzling roof, and pearly floor, There flashed a radiance wondrous to behold, Liken to romance read in ancient lore, Of fell magician, or enchanter bold, Who doth with waving wand a fairy scene unfold. XLV. From that o’erfretted roof suspended hung, Fair lustres bright, with crystal branches spread, A thousand lights from each their radiance flung, That fairy-like a dazzling whiteness shed On what seemed temples reared with spiral head, Towers and glorious fanes, with nodding groves, Landscapes far seen, with waters’ glassy bed, In every form of beauty, fancy roves, Where Nature secret works, moulds, fashions as she loves. XLVI. Colossal-like, the sparry columns rose, Tow’ring above in awful grandeur seen, Magnificent as Staffa in repose, When gliding moonbeams gild its glorious scene, Resting in shadow of a deep serene; Whose span of arch, more beautiful to gaze, Did seem against the blue vault sky to lean, That bade th’ abstracted spirit upward raise One full entranced look of wonder and amaze. XLVII. From their revering gaze called off straightway, By hast’ning footsteps of delighted bard, Who bade the troop behold without delay, These hidden marvels of the earth’s deep hoard, Which time ere long would them no sight afford, As other scenes the surface globe would claim, Himself their Cicerone, his proud reward, Thro’ fancy’s medium point man’s highest aim; To one supreme great Cause, ah! this the poet’s fame. XLVIII. The threshold passed of that awe-stricken cave, They wend their way that to a grotto led, Inlaid with that light roamer of the wave, The pearl-white nautilus, where conches spread In wild profusion glitt’ring overhead That formed a concave roof of sea-shells rare, Like fair Calypso’s grot with moss-green bed, And overhanging woodbine did appear, A cool inviting spot, screened from the noon-tide glare. XLIX. There sat them down their weary limbs to rest, While on their ear a sound of waters played, Melodious rippling that becalmed the breast, As the fresh fountain from its channel laved, Each several spring there stood a nymph-clad naiad Of brook and stream, Aonian sisters fair, Who here, the cool translucent wave conveyed From its pure source, their pastime-tending care, O’er which they did preside, with glossy, dripping hair. L.