IV
Another time we follow thee, afar,
To another of thy villas, where mountains rise
In purple grandeur, outlined against the skies,
Where noises from the city do not mar
The restful solitude: where fountains play
And sparkle in their marble basins wide,
And then through artificial channels glide
To join the Tiber.—Where are meadows gay
With wild-flowers, and lawns like emerald velvet soft,
Dotted with marble summer-houses, twined
With ivy, and musical with fountains cool,
Where roses by the thousand make the soft
Air fragrant: where art and nature are combined
In sumptuous luxury on this footstool.
To another of thy villas, where mountains rise
In purple grandeur, outlined against the skies,
Where noises from the city do not mar
The restful solitude: where fountains play
And sparkle in their marble basins wide,
And then through artificial channels glide
To join the Tiber.—Where are meadows gay
With wild-flowers, and lawns like emerald velvet soft,
Dotted with marble summer-houses, twined
With ivy, and musical with fountains cool,
Where roses by the thousand make the soft
Air fragrant: where art and nature are combined
In sumptuous luxury on this footstool.
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