BOOK THE FIFTH.
THE PASTOR.
Farewell deep Valley, with thy one rude House,
And its small lot of life-supporting fields,
And guardian rocks!—With unreverted eyes
I cannot pass thy bounds, attractive Seat!
To the still influx of the morning light
Open, and day's pure chearfulness, but veiled
From human observation, as if yet
Primæval Forests wrapped thee round with dark
Impenetrable shade; once more farewell
Majestic Circuit, beautiful Abyss,
By Nature destined from the birth of things
For quietness profound!
