15 October 1838 – 21 October 1838

Anon with gaping fearlessness they quaff The dewy nectar with a natural thirst, Or wet their leathern lungs where cranberries lurk, With sweeter wine than Chian, Lesbian, or Falernian far. Theirs was the inward lustre that bespeaks An open sole—unknowing to exclude The cheerful day—a worthier glory far Than that which gilds the outmost rind with darkness visible— Virtues that fast abide through lapse of years, Rather rubbed in than off.

Hector hurrying from rank to rank is likened to the moon wading in majesty from cloud to cloud. We are reminded of the hour of the day by the fact that the woodcutter spreads now his morning meal in the recesses of the mountains, having already laid his axe at the root of many lofty trees.