The Terrestrial Paradise

Longing already to search in and roundThe heavenly forest, dense and living-green,Which tempered to the eyes the newborn day,Withouten more delay I left the bank,Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.A gently-breathing air, that no mutationHad in itself, smote me upon the forehead,No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze,Whereat the tremulous branches readilyDid all of them bow downward towards that sideWhere its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;Yet not from their upright direction bentSo that the little birds upon their topsShould cease the practice of their tuneful art;But with full-throated joy, the hours of primeSinging received they in the midst of foliageThat made monotonous burden to their rhymes,Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells,Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi,When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco.Already my slow steps had led me onInto the ancient wood so far, that ICould see no more the place where I had entered.And lo! my further course cut off a river,Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves,Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang.All waters that on earth most limpid are,Would seem to have within themselves some mixture,Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal,Although it moves on with a brown, brown current,Under the shade perpetual, that neverRay of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.