Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/498

454 CLXXIII.

Lo, Nemi! navelled in the woody hills

So far, that the uprooting Wind which tears

The oak from his foundation, and which spills

The Ocean o'er its boundary, and bears

Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares

The oval mirror of thy glassy lake;

And calm as cherished hate, its surface wears

A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake,

All coiled into itself and round, as sleeps the snake.

CLXXIV.

And near, Albano's scarce divided waves

Shine from a sister valley;—and afarN31

The Tiber winds, and the broad Ocean laves

The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war,

"Arms and the Man," whose re-ascending star

Rose o'er an empire:—but beneath thy right