“The roar of waters! From the headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice.
The fall of waters! Rapid as the light
the flashing mass foams shaking the abyss.
The hell of waters! Where they howl and hiss,
and boil in endless torture; while the sweat
of their great agony, wrung out from this
their Phlegeton, curls round the rocks of jet
that gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set,
and mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
returns in an unceasing shower, which round,
with its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,
is an eternal April to the ground,
making it all one emerald. How profound
the gulf! And how the giant element
from rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,
crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent
with his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent
to the broad column which rolls on, and shows
more like the fountain of an infant sea
torn from the womb of mountains by the throes
of a new world, than only thus to be
parent of rivers, which flow gunshingly,
with many windings through the vale. Look back!
Look! Where it comes like an eternity,
as if to sweep down all things in its track,
charming the eye with dread, a matchless cataract
horribly beautiful! But on the verge
from side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
and Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,
like Hope upon a deathbed, and unworn,
its steady dyes, while all around is torn
by the distracted waters, bears serene
its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn;
resembling, ‘mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching madness with unalterable mien