Which no sunbeam's light can enter,
I shall penetrate: it seemeth
As if until now it never
Had been trod by human footsteps.
There where yonder marge impendeth
O'er a streamlet that swift-flying
Carries with it the white freshness
Of the snows that from the mountains
Ever in its waves are melted,
Stands almost a skeleton;
The sole difference it presenteth
To the tree-trunks near it is,
That it moves as well as trembles,
Slow and gaunt, a living corse.
Oh! thou venerable elder
Who, a reason-gifted tree,
Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth.--

CARPOPHORUS.
Wo! oh! wo is me!--a Roman!
(At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly.)

CHRYSANTHUS.
Though a Roman, do not dread me:
With no evil end I seek thee.

CARPOPHORUS.
Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentle
Roman youth? for thou hast silenced
My first fears even by thy presence.