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The Lands of the Saracen - Pictures of Palestine, Asia Minor, Sicily, and Spain by Bayard Taylor
page 33 of 399 (08%)
Beyond the mulberry orchards, we entered on wild, half-cultivated tracts,
covered with a bewildering maze of blossoms. The hill-side and stony
shelves of soil overhanging the sea fairly blazed with the brilliant dots
of color which were rained upon them. The pink, the broom, the poppy, the
speedwell, the lupin, that beautiful variety of the cyclamen, called by
the Syrians "_deek e-djebel_" (cock o' the mountain), and a number of
unknown plants dazzled the eye with their profusion, and loaded the air
with fragrance as rare as it was unfailing. Here and there, clear, swift
rivulets came down from Lebanon, coursing their way between thickets of
blooming oleanders. Just before crossing the little river Damoor, François
pointed out, on one of the distant heights, the residence of the late Lady
Hester Stanhope. During the afternoon we crossed several offshoots of the
Lebanon, by paths incredibly steep and stony, and towards evening reached
Saïda, the ancient Sidon, where we obtained permission to pitch our tent
in a garden. The town is built on a narrow point of land, jutting out from
the centre of a bay, or curve in the coast, and contains about five
thousand inhabitants. It is a quiet, sleepy sort of a place, and contains
nothing of the old Sidon except a few stones and the fragments of a mole,
extending into the sea. The fortress in the water, and the Citadel, are
remnants of Venitian sway. The clouds gathered after nightfall, and
occasionally there was a dash of rain on our tent. But I heard it with the
same quiet happiness, as when, in boyhood, sleeping beneath the rafters, I
have heard the rain beating all night upon the roof. I breathed the sweet
breath of the grasses whereon my carpet was spread, and old Mother Earth,
welcoming me back to her bosom, cradled me into calm and refreshing
sleep. There is no rest more grateful than that which we take on the turf
or the sand, except the rest below it.

We rose in a dark and cloudy morning, and continued our way between fields
of barley, completely stained with the bloody hue of the poppy, and
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