The Diary of an Ennuyée by Anna Brownell Jameson
page 21 of 269 (07%)
page 21 of 269 (07%)
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enchanted me like Saturday's. The scenery _then_ had a different
species of beauty, a deeper interest--when the dark blue sky was above our heads, and the transparent lake shone another heaven at our feet, and the recollection of great and glorious names, and visions of poetic fancy, and ideal forms more lovely than ever trod this earth, hovered around us:--and then those thoughts which would intrude--remembrances of the far-off absent, who are or have been loved, mingled with the whole, and shed an imaginary splendour or a tender interest, over scenes which required no extraneous powers to enhance their native loveliness.--no charm borrowed from imagination to embellish the all-beautiful reality. _Duomo d'Ossola._--What shall I say of the marvellous, the miraculous Simplon? Nothing: every body has said already every thing that _can_ be said and _exclaimed_. In our descent, as the valley widened, and the stern terrific features of the scene assumed a gentler character, we came to the beautiful village of Davedro, with its cottages and vineyards spread over a green slope, between the mountains and the torrent below. This lovely nook struck me the more from its contrast with the region of snows, clouds, and barren rocks to which our eyes had been for several hours accustomed. In such a spot as Davedro I fancied I should wish to _live_, could I in life assemble round me all that my craving heart and boundless spirit desire;--_or die_, when life had exhausted all excitement, and the subdued and weary soul had learned to be content with repose:--but not not till _then_. We are now in Italy; but have not yet heard the soft sounds of the Italian language. However, we read with great satisfaction the Italian |
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