Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . , overflowing reser-voir of water,—once the mirror of Venus herself,—the beautiful villa is once cheerful aspect grows daily sadder and more forlorn. Where is all theclear laughter that was wont to ring here ? Where the song and sound of lutes ?Where all the gay, joyous masque of revelry ? The dry leaves crackle beneathour feet! Day has departed. The silent queen of night treads through the clouds, and poursher enchanted light over the sleeping garden. The branches shiver, the flowers opentheir chalices and breathe sweet odours all around,, the
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . , overflowing reser-voir of water,—once the mirror of Venus herself,—the beautiful villa is once cheerful aspect grows daily sadder and more forlorn. Where is all theclear laughter that was wont to ring here ? Where the song and sound of lutes ?Where all the gay, joyous masque of revelry ? The dry leaves crackle beneathour feet! Day has departed. The silent queen of night treads through the clouds, and poursher enchanted light over the sleeping garden. The branches shiver, the flowers opentheir chalices and breathe sweet odours all around,, the waters swell and rise as thoughthey longed to reach the stars, and the garden-walks grow animated. The marble statues SHORES OF LA GO FUCINO TO THE PONTINE MARSHES. 321 descend from their pedestals, and move as gods amidst the laurel hedges. Yonder, wherethe brooding Sybil sits in the dark bower of planes, the great conches begin to sound, andthe dripping river gods, Anio and Tiber, break through their bonds of ivy wreaths and. ROMAN PEASANTS. step out through the waters. Beneath the shadow of the black cypresses, betweenleaves and flowers, beautiful Roman girls—the nieces of the great Cardinal—flit andrustle with silvery laughter. The nymphs of the fountain bathe their white limbs amongthe waving reeds. Oh sweet dream-life, filled with perfume and moonlight! The T T 322 ITALY. nightingale sings from the grove on the hill, and would fain pour out all her little heart insong; she sings of love, of nought save love. How enchanting is the view between the ilex-trees, of the Campagna which lies downthere before us like a vast web of moon-rays, looking all the brighter because seen fromthis dense dark shade ! How nebulously are all the mountains transfigured—and aboveall, the sternly beautiful Soracte ! And yonder lies Rome. That white, winding road,the Via Tiburtina, leads through the desolate plain to the Eternal City. And the eye canreach still farther : there is the s
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
