Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ini sleep, worn out with theirdaily toil, and awake to look longingly at the galley fire on board the ship yonder, wherethey are cooking polenta, or at the casks of sweet wine that are being sent off to foreignshores. Early and late, summer and winter, there is nothing for the facchini but toiland poverty; yet poor as they are they still possess one thing—a home, a much more to be pitied are those emigrants upon the great ship that sails to-dayfor the Brazils! 120 ITAL Y. Thus we wind our way among a thousand different objects, until we reach the
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ini sleep, worn out with theirdaily toil, and awake to look longingly at the galley fire on board the ship yonder, wherethey are cooking polenta, or at the casks of sweet wine that are being sent off to foreignshores. Early and late, summer and winter, there is nothing for the facchini but toiland poverty; yet poor as they are they still possess one thing—a home, a much more to be pitied are those emigrants upon the great ship that sails to-dayfor the Brazils! 120 ITAL Y. Thus we wind our way among a thousand different objects, until we reach the limit ofthe harbour which the two great moles embrace in a crescent-shaped line, and now thethrong begins to diminish. The dazzlingly white lighthouse shines in the sunlight, thewaves foam around huge blocks of stone, and at length we are out in the open sea. Withwhat a different motion our bark now rocks and dances on the water ! The differencebetween the sea here, and inside the harbour, is that between the pulse that beats in. EVENING AT THE MOLE. freedom, or in a prison ! We meet few boats ; a rich merchant propelled by eight stoutrowers, darts swiftly past us on his way to meet his ship that has just been signalled fromthe port: further away lies a great steamer newly arrived from the Levant and under-going quarantine, with the clothes of the crew fluttering from the rigging in the fresh,purifying breeze. We are already a good distance from Genoa, and the dolphins areplaying and leaping all around us, when we catch sight of something rising and falling androcking strangely ahead, and hear a broken sound of bells. On nearing this curiousobject, we find it to be a sound-signal, to warn mariners off some dangerous rocks. Akind of raft painted red, is anchored here, and in a pyramid erected on it hangs a colossalbell. The furious haste with which the invisible hand of the storm sounds this bell, therage of the roaring waters that strive to drown its voice, the frenzied viol
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
