moral strife were rife in the land. Neither Royalists nor

Urged yonder into midmost realm of day,

Then, crowded against the lofty mountain sides,

They're massed and powerfully pressed. Again,

Perchance, his waters wax, O far away,

Among the Aethiopians' lofty mountains,

When the all-beholding sun with thawing beams

Drives the white snows to flow into the vales.

Now come; and unto thee I will unfold,