The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity--they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel; Nature's law, In them suspended, recked not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw[nb] From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds Stumble o'er heaving plains--and Man's dread hath no words. LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough; Her agéd trees rise thick as once the slain Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en-- A little rill of scanty stream and bed-- A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red.[nc] LXVI. But thou, Clitumnus[447]! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river-Nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer[448] Grazes--the purest God of gentle waters! And most serene of aspect, and most clear; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters-- A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters! LXVII. And on thy happy shore a Temple[449] still, Of small and delicate proportion, keeps Upon a mild declivity of hill,[nd] Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales,[450] Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps; While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails[ne] Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. LXVIII. Pass not unblest the Genius of the place! If through the air a Zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloquent green, If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Nature's baptism,--'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust.[451] LXIX. The roar of waters!--from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; The fall of waters! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; The Hell of Waters! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX.