Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/459

CANTO IV.] Of thy cave-guarded Spring, with years unwrinkled,

Reflects the meek-eyed Genius of the place,

Whose green, wild margin now no more erase

Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep

Prisoned in marble—bubbling from the base

Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap

The rill runs o'er—and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep

CXVII.

Fantastically tangled: the green hills

Are clothed with early blossoms—through the grass

The quick-eyed lizard rustles—and the bills

Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass;

Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class,

Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes

Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass;

The sweetness of the Violet's deep blue eyes,

Kissed by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies.