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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