With Shelley in Italy : being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822 . We then crossed theriver formed by this confluence, over a narrow naturalbridge of rock, and saw the cataract from the platform Ifirst mentioned. We think of spending some time nextyear near this waterfall. The inn is very bad, or weshould have stayed there longer. We came from Terni last night to a place called Nepi,and to-day arrived at Eome across the much-belied Cam-pagna di Roma, a place I confess infinitely to my is a flattering p
With Shelley in Italy : being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822 . We then crossed theriver formed by this confluence, over a narrow naturalbridge of rock, and saw the cataract from the platform Ifirst mentioned. We think of spending some time nextyear near this waterfall. The inn is very bad, or weshould have stayed there longer. We came from Terni last night to a place called Nepi,and to-day arrived at Eome across the much-belied Cam-pagna di Roma, a place I confess infinitely to my is a flattering picture of Bagshot Heath. But thenthere are the Apennines on one side, and Rome and on the other, and it is intersected by perpetual dellsclothed with arbutus and ilex. Naples, December 22, 1818. Since I last wrote to you, I have seen the ruins ofRome, the Yatican, St. Peters, and all the miracles ofancient and modern art contained in that majestic impression of it exceeds anything I have ever experi-enced in my travels. We stayed there only a week, intend-ing to return at the end of February, and devote two or[70] I § ^ 2 c. THE YEAR 1818 three months to its mines of inexhaustible contemplation, to which period I refer you for a minute account of it. We visited the Forum and the ruins of the Coliseum every day. The Coliseum is unlike any work of human hands I ever saw before. It is of enormous height and circuit, and the arches built of massy stones are piled on one another, and jut into the blue air, shattered into the forms of overhanging rocks. It has been changed by time into the image of an amphitheatre of rocky hills overgrown by the wild olive, the myrtle, and the iig-tree, and threaded by little paths, which wind among its ruined stairs and immeasurable galleries: the copse-wood overshadows you as you wander through its labyrinths, and the wild weeds of this climate of flowers bloom under your feet. The arena is covered with grass, and pierces, like
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