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What is her pyramid of precious stones?
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread
There more things to greet the heart and eyes
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields
Is of another temper, and I roam
And torrents swoll'n to rivers with their gore,
Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet;
LXIV. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw
From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words.
And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead