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Rh Ah! would the blinding falchion of swift lightning, That crimson wounds the mountain flank, but hurl One of those loosen'd bounding blocks of rock, So as to stop for ever the black mouth Of that infernal cavern of the fiends, Where still a madden'd laughter peals among Commotions of Divine wrath flying abroad, Reiterate from all their haunted halls! Lo! the tornado, and the levinbolt Have fallen upon yon tree's enormous bulk, Hard by the cave; blasting, and wrenching it Loose from a cleft it grappled for centuries With serpentine huge roots! it creaks and crashes! Headlong it topples to the gulf that boils!

Some even tell a marvellous dim tale Of a tribe buried somewhere in the wild; A satyr-race of clovenfooted men, Hairy and tail'd, with cloven feet like swine! Where are the Pigmies? Homer sang of old Their yearly war with southward-flying cranes!