Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ad that leads to the Neapolitan provinces, isMonte Cavo, where the temple of the Latian Jupiter once stood. Those to whom atriumphal entry into the capital was not granted, might, nevertheless, celebrate theirtriumph on this mountain. Then the road echoed with the clash of weapons, and the M M 2 26S ITALY. shouts of soldiers and civilians. The glitter of armour and golden embroidery could beseen from afar off. Clouds of incense curled around the ivory chariot of the victor; andhe himself was the most splendid of all in his tunica palmata and purple toga. He
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ad that leads to the Neapolitan provinces, isMonte Cavo, where the temple of the Latian Jupiter once stood. Those to whom atriumphal entry into the capital was not granted, might, nevertheless, celebrate theirtriumph on this mountain. Then the road echoed with the clash of weapons, and the M M 2 26S ITALY. shouts of soldiers and civilians. The glitter of armour and golden embroidery could beseen from afar off. Clouds of incense curled around the ivory chariot of the victor; andhe himself was the most splendid of all in his tunica palmata and purple toga. He waspreceded by the Tubiciiies—trumpeters blowing a warlike blast ; by the bearers of thetrophies, standards, and spoil won on the field ; and the white sacrificial bull that hadoften bathed in the waters of the Clitumnus. After the chariot came the singers, themusicians, and the legions wearing wreaths of myrtle. The victor himself here wore onlya crown of myrtle. The laurel-crown was denied to him, eagerly as he might desire ON THE CAMPAGNA. Ah, how many a one has eagerly desired and striven for the laurel in mighty Rome!Above all, one poet, whose grave we will now visit. Flora, the flower-garlanded goddess, seems almost to have abandoned Rome since thedestruction of her temples, so few are the gardens and flowers that bloom here.* If wewould refresh ourselves with the perfume of flowers, and at the same time enjoy the finepanoramic view of Rome, we must ascend the slopes of either the Pincian Hill, or theJaniculum. The latter rises on the southern side of the Tiber; it was once the place ofsacrifice to Janus, then the tumulus, or burial-mound of the holy Numa. Later still, itbore the luxurious gardens of Ceesar; now the convent of St. Onofrio stands on it, andwithin St. Onofrio there is a grave that holds beneath its marble the mortal remains of onewhose fame lives immortal in the realm of genius,—Torquato Tasso. We cross the Tiber, and proceed through the quarter of
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
