Hence thro' the genial bowels of the earth
Easy may fancy pass; till at thy mines
Gani or Raolconda she arrive,
And from the adamant's imperial blaze
Form weak ideas of her Maker's glory.
Next to Pegu or Ceylon let me rove,
Where the rich ruby (deem'd by Sages old
Of Sovereign virtue) sparkles ev'n like Sirius,
And blushes into flames. Thence will I go
To undermine the treasure-fertile womb
Of the huge Pyrenean, to detect
The Agat and the deep-intrenched gem
Of kindred Jasper — Nature in them both
Delights to play the Mimic on herself;
And in their veins she oft pourtrays the forms
Of leaning hills, of trees erect, and streams
Now stealing softly on, now thundering down
In desperate cascade with flowers and beasts
And all the living landskip of the vale:
In vain thy pencil Claudio, or Poussin,
Or thine, immortal Guido, would essay
Such skill to imitate — it is the hand
Of God himself — for God himself is there.