Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ma confession of guilt waswrung. The Piazza of is almost at our feet,we can hear in the eveningthe swell of the music andthe murmur of the crowdof masquers. It is a Festanight, and up there be-neath the leaden roof, aman lies brooding, whomto-morrow the executionerwill awaken. Perhaps thefriend who betrayed himis in the merry throng, and that moon whose rays glimmer through the bars, perhaps isshining on the gondola wherein his beautiful wife receives the, homage of a strangerslove. He groans, he strikes his forehead with his hand—nessun maggior dolo
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ma confession of guilt waswrung. The Piazza of is almost at our feet,we can hear in the eveningthe swell of the music andthe murmur of the crowdof masquers. It is a Festanight, and up there be-neath the leaden roof, aman lies brooding, whomto-morrow the executionerwill awaken. Perhaps thefriend who betrayed himis in the merry throng, and that moon whose rays glimmer through the bars, perhaps isshining on the gondola wherein his beautiful wife receives the, homage of a strangerslove. He groans, he strikes his forehead with his hand—nessun maggior dolore diericordarsi del tempo felice, nella miseria (Dante, Divina Commedia.)And that, too, was Venice! With a sensation of relief we return to the open air, to the grand Piazzetta where thesea-breeze blows, where the Zecca opens its pillared halls ; that ancient mint, which asearly as the year 1280, coined gold sequins. And what a press of gondolas ! On everyside is heard the cry La barca, Signore! Commanda la barca ? The gondolier. GHETTO.
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
