Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . on which the thought of yesterday—be it sad or joyful,—neverintrudes. Only the present is fair ; only one golden bright momentSmiles upon him who is happy. The present delights him alone ! Did I weep yesterday ? Was my heart oppressed with bitter cares ? Did I strivein vain for the wreath of fame ?—I open my eyes on the morrow, and the troublousthoughts of yesterday are dissipated; joy, and faith in the beauty of life, hover round my KNOWST THOU THE LAND ? 357 couch, kiss my cheeks and brow, and point towards the mountains and the sea. The sea!It lies like a
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . on which the thought of yesterday—be it sad or joyful,—neverintrudes. Only the present is fair ; only one golden bright momentSmiles upon him who is happy. The present delights him alone ! Did I weep yesterday ? Was my heart oppressed with bitter cares ? Did I strivein vain for the wreath of fame ?—I open my eyes on the morrow, and the troublousthoughts of yesterday are dissipated; joy, and faith in the beauty of life, hover round my KNOWST THOU THE LAND ? 357 couch, kiss my cheeks and brow, and point towards the mountains and the sea. The sea!It lies like a silver girdle around the fair body of the enchanting sirens, clasping all theirbeauties together as a ribbon binds a bunch of flowers. Smiling cities are scattered allalong the shore like pearls and diamonds, from the dark green promontory of Sorrento,to the lovely slopes of Castellamare ;—from hence, past the shining Torri, to pleasantPortici; and on the sides of Vesuvius, and the Vomero, and Posilippo,—whither shall we. FOUNTAIN IN THE VILLA REALE, NAPLES. turn our eyes ? How take in all this beauty ? Where begin ? At Capreras jaggedisland, or the bold Cape of Minerva ? Shall we hasten to the Greek temples of distantPsestum ? Or wander through the city of Hercules, and the ancient Stabiae ? Or listenfor the sybilline oracle in the temple of Cumse ? Yonder the terrors of Vesuvius exciteour wonder : here soft memories attract us to the vine-grown tomb of Virgil. In thisdirection, a jolly company of dancers, excited by wild bacchanalian music, is beating theground in a shady garden ; in the other, a shoal of little boats are rocking in the sunshineon the blue sea. And thou, child of man, standest in the midst and askest thyselfwondering, May I, too, rejoice ? Ah yes ; rejoice, thou, also ! Stand not on one sidelike a mute, stupid boy. Thy good mother, thy great, rich mother Nature, takes theeby the hand, and leads thee lovingly into the golden circle of enjoyment. And
Size: 1908px × 1309px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
