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 From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers;

From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers.

Tall are the oaks whose acorns

Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs

Of the Ciminian hill; Beyond all streams Clitumnus

Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves

The great Volsinian mere.

But now no stroke of woodman

Is heard by Auser's rill; No hunter tracks the stag's green path

Up the Ciminian hill; Unwatched along Clitumnus

Grazes the milk-white steer; Unharmed the water-fowl may dip

In the Volsinian mere.

The harvests of Arretium

This year old men shall reap; This year young boys in Umbro

Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna

This year the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls

Whose sires have marched to Rome.

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