One I behold who, 'cross the foaming flood, 380 Leaps with a bound of graceful hardihood; Another high on that green ledge;--he gained The tempting spot with every sinew strained; [99] And downward thence a knot of grass he throws, Food for his beasts in time of winter snows. [100] 385 --Far different life from what Tradition hoar Transmits of happier lot in times of yore! [101] Then Summer lingered long; and honey flowed From out the rocks, the wild bees' safe abode: [102] Continual waters [103] welling cheered the waste, 390 And plants were wholesome, now of deadly taste: Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had piled, Usurping where the fairest herbage smiled: Nor Hunger driven the herds from pastures bare, To climb the treacherous cliffs for scanty fare. [104] 395 Then the milk-thistle flourished through the land, And forced the full-swoln udder to demand, Thrice every day, the pail and welcome hand. [105] Thus does the father to his children tell Of banished bliss, by fancy loved too well. [106] 400 Alas! that human guilt provoked the rod [107] Of angry Nature to avenge her God. Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts. 'Tis morn: with gold the verdant mountain glows; 405 More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose. Far-stretched beneath the many-tinted hills, A mighty waste of mist the valley fills, A solemn sea! whose billows wide around [108] Stand motionless, to awful silence bound: 410 Pines, on the coast, through mist their tops uprear, That like to leaning masts of stranded ships appear. A single chasm, a gulf of gloomy blue, Gapes in the centre of the sea--and through That dark mysterious gulf ascending, sound 415 Innumerable streams with roar profound. [109] Mount through the nearer vapours notes of birds, And merry flageolet; the low of herds, The bark of dogs, the heifer's tinkling bell, Talk, laughter, and perchance a church-tower knell: [110] 420 Think not, the peasant from aloft has gazed And heard with heart unmoved, with soul unraised: [111] Nor is his spirit less enrapt, nor less Alive to independent happiness, [112] Then, when he lies, out-stretched, at even-tide 425 Upon the fragrant mountain's purple side: [113] For as the pleasures of his simple day Beyond his native valley seldom stray, Nought round its darling precincts can he find But brings some past enjoyment to his mind; 430 While Hope, reclining upon Pleasure's urn, [114] Binds her wild wreaths, and whispers his return.