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“ Before them Betis roll’d his glittering stream 
In many a silvery winding, trac’d afar 
Amid the ample plain. Behind the walls 
And stately piles which crown’d its margin, rich 
With olives and with sunny slopes of vines, 
And many a lovely hamlet interspers’d, 
Whose citron bowers were once the abode ol peace, 
I-Icight above height, receding hills were seen 
Imbued with evening hues.” 
These are Spanish scenes; but now the muse leads 
us to another land, where we still keep the olive in view; 
for lo ! — 
-“ Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
To laughing life with her redundant horn.” 
“ In such a world,— so thorny,” so full of jarring in¬ 
terests and conflicting passions, how sweet is any thing 
which breathes of peace! It is for this we love the 
olive. “ They who rejoice when their corn, and their 
•wine, and their oil are increased,” will delight in it as 
the symbol of plenty; but the meek and gentle-hearted, 
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