lling ruin of the monuments of
man's power, nature asserted her ascendancy, and shone more beauteous from
the contrast. The radiant waters hardly trembled, while the rippling waves
made many sided mirrors to the sun; the blue immensity, seen beyond Lido,
stretched far, unspecked by boat, so tranquil, so lovely, that it seemed to
invite us to quit the land strewn with ruins, and to seek refuge from
sorrow and fear on its placid extent.

We saw the ruins of this hapless city from the height of the tower of San
Marco, immediately under us, and turned with sickening hearts to the sea,
which, though it be a grave, rears no monument, discloses no ruin. Evening
had come apace. The sun set in calm majesty behind the misty summits of the
Apennines, and its golden and roseate hues painted the mountains of the
opposite shore. "That land," said Adrian, "tinged with the last glories of
the day, is Greece." Greece! The sound had a responsive chord in the bosom
of Clara. She vehemently reminded us that we had promised to take her once
again to Greece, to the tomb of her parents. Why go to Rome? what should we
do at Rome? We might take one of the many vessels to be found here, embark
in it, and steer right for Albania.

I objected the dangers of ocean, and the distance of the mountains we saw,
from Athens; a distance which, from the savage uncultivation of the
country, was almost impassable. Adrian, who was delighted with Clara's
proposal, obviated these objections. The season was favourable; the
north-west that blew would take us transversely across the gulph; and then
we might find, in some abandoned port, a light Greek caique, adapted for
such navigation, and run down the coast of the Morea, and, passing over the
Isthmus of Corinth, without much land-travelling or fatigue, find ourselves
at Athens. This appeared to me wild talk; but the sea, glowing with a
thousand purple hues, looked so brilliant and safe; my beloved companions
were so earnest, so determined, that, when Adrian said, "Well, though it is
not exactly what you wish, yet consent, to please me"--I could no longer
refuse. That evening we selected a vessel, whose size just seemed fitted
for our enterprize; we bent the sails and put the rigging in order, and
reposing that night in one of the city's thousand palaces, agreed to embark
at sunrise the following morning.

When winds that move not its calm surface, sweep
The azure sea, I love the land no more;
The smiles