oh softly blew a the mo

r

u

n

i

t

ng breeze b

Ruskin's line number

810

Through Chiavennas myrtle trees,
And oer the green hills viny spread
That rose in many a rounded head
Beneath the Alpine rocks of red

System generated line number

5

And the fresh snow had fallʼn that night

Ruskin's line number

815

And sprinkled with its mantle white
The mountain amphitheatre
That rose around us far and near
Though in such far confusion hurled

System generated line number

10

They looked to rule oer all the world

Ruskin's line number

820

And the white clouds seemed to immerse,
Another ruinʼd universe. 1