And by his brow, deep mark'd with thought,

They deem'd he only care had brought;
He leant upon his slender crook,

Bestow'd around a sadden'd look ;

Then paused awhile, as if he sought
To hide what strong emotion wrought;
And when these reveries were done,
"Twas thus his mournful tale begun.

THE

SHEPHERD'S TALE.

Amor condusse noi ad una morte.

DANTE.

Of olive branches-thick o'erlaid.

Turn thy fair eyes, which fain would glance

In rapture o'er that bright expanse,

*The modern Triverone. The ascent to Tivoli through a grove of olives is very steep, but picturesque in the highest degree. The falls of the Anio were seen a few years ago to the greatest advantage. The water fell into a black gulf called the Grotto of Neptune, producing, by its contrast with the foam and spray, one of the most striking scenes of the kind in Europe. This effect, however, has been destroyed by a torrent; but the beauty of the cascades, and the ruins which overlook them, will still convey an effect for which it would be difficult to find a parallel even in Italy.

Whose soft blue hills and shady wood

Unite their hues with Ocean's flood;

Mark well where browse along the stream

Two flocks their keepers thou may'st see, Who wisely shun the noon-day beam, Are shaded by yon chestnut tree, Where the bright current gently laves The freshness where the willow waves.

Unheeded now the waters flow

Unmark'd the mass which bounds below,

Revealing oft the grotto's side,

Where lurking forms in fancy bide—

Unseen the pile of ruins gray,

Lonely-yet lovely, in decay

Each pensive eye would seem to know
Some virtue in that mirror's glow,

Softly reflecting forms that fear

To meet each other's glances there.

Yet still they gaze, nor would withdraw
Those smiles which deep below they saw;
Each hand entwined dreads that its touch
May mar their hope, or tell too much;