Solitude
In this dark and solitary valley, the stag that bellows to the water's roar bends his eyes upon the river and watches his image happily.
The Nymph of this stream every evening opens the portal of her crystal dwelling and sings a serenade to us.
The Nymphs, drawn by the chase to the shadow of these forests, seek the most hidden recesses far from the Satyr's lurking-place.
Once at the foot of this vast oak (almost as old as the very sun), Bacchus, Love and Sleep dug the grave of Silenus.
A cold and murky silence sleeps in the shadow of these elms and the breezes shake their boughs with an amorous violence.
The warier mind enjoys this gentle spot where eve and morn the nightingale renews her piteous plaint.
Here Love becomes a scholar, here Venus has her altars; and the steps of mortals never break this solitude.
The Nymph of this stream every evening opens the portal of her crystal dwelling and sings a serenade to us.
The Nymphs, drawn by the chase to the shadow of these forests, seek the most hidden recesses far from the Satyr's lurking-place.
Once at the foot of this vast oak (almost as old as the very sun), Bacchus, Love and Sleep dug the grave of Silenus.
A cold and murky silence sleeps in the shadow of these elms and the breezes shake their boughs with an amorous violence.
The warier mind enjoys this gentle spot where eve and morn the nightingale renews her piteous plaint.
Here Love becomes a scholar, here Venus has her altars; and the steps of mortals never break this solitude.
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