Modern Italian Poets eBook

No trace of man appeared, only the forests
Of untouched pines, rivers unknown, and vales
Without a path.  All hushed, and nothing else
But my own steps I heard, and now and then
The rushing of the torrents, and the sudden
Scream of the hawk, or else the eagle, launched
From his high nest, and hurtling through the dawn,
Passed close above my head; or then at noon,
Struck by the sun, the crackling of the cones
Of the wild pines.  And so three days I walked,
And under the great trees, and in the clefts,
Three nights I rested.  The sun was my guide;
I rose with him, and him upon his journey
I followed till he set.  Uncertain still,
Of my own way I went; from vale to vale
Crossing forever; or, if it chanced at times
I saw the accessible slope of some great height
Rising before me, and attained its crest,
Yet loftier summits still, before, around,
Towered over me; and other heights with snow
From foot to summit whitening, that did seem
Like steep, sharp tents fixed in the soil; and others
Appeared like iron, and arose in guise
Of walls insuperable.  The third day fell
What time I had a mighty mountain seen
That raised its top above the others; ’t was
All one green slope, and all its top was crowned
With trees.  And thither eagerly I turned
My weary steps.  It was the eastern side,
Sire, of this very mountain on which lies
Thy camp that faces toward the setting sun. 
While I yet lingered on its spurs the darkness
Did overtake me; and upon the dry
And slippery needles of the pine that covered
The ground, I made my bed, and pillowed me
Against their ancient trunks.  A smiling hope
Awakened me at daybreak; and all full
Of a strange vigor, up the steep I climbed. 
Scarce had I reached the summit when my ear
Was smitten with a murmur that from far
Appeared to come, deep, ceaseless; and I stood
And listened motionless.  ’T was not the waters
Broken upon the rocks below; ’twas not the wind
That blew athwart the woods and whistling ran
From one tree to another, but verily
A sound of living men, an indistinct
Rumor of words, of arms, of trampling feet,
Swarming from far away; an agitation
Immense, of men!  My heart leaped, and my steps
I hastened.  On that peak, O king, that seems
To us like some sharp blade to pierce the heaven,
There lies an ample plain that’s covered thick
With grass ne’er trod before.  And this I crossed
The quickest way; and now at every instant
The murmur nearer grew, and I devoured
The space between; I reached the brink, I launched
My glance into the valley and I saw,
I saw the tents of Israel, the desired
Pavilion of Jacob; on the ground
I fell, thanked God, adored him, and descended.

VIII