nts left behind,
Of sylvan revels, dance, and festive song;
And hears the faint reed swelling in the wind;
And his sad sighs the distant notes prolong!
Thus went the swain, till mountain-shadows fell,
And dimm'd the landscape to his aching sight;
And must he leave the vales he loves so well!
Can foreign wealth, and shows, his heart delight?
No, happy vales! your wild rocks still shall hear
His pipe, light sounding on the morning breeze;
Still shall he lead the flocks to streamlet clear,
And watch at eve beneath the western trees.
Away, Venetian gold--your charm is o'er!
And now his swift step seeks the lowland bow'rs,
Where, through the leaves, his cottage light ONCE MORE
Guides him to happy friends, and jocund hours.
Ah, merry swain! that laugh along the vales,
And with your gay pipe make the mountains ring,
Your cot, your woods, your thymy-scented gales--
And friends belov'd--more joy than wealth can bring!

CHAPTER II

TITANIA. If you will patiently dance in our round,
And see our moon-light revels, go with us.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

Early on the following morning, the travellers set out for Turin.
The luxuriant plain, that extends from the feet of the Alps to that
magnificent city, was not then, as now, shaded by an avenue of trees
nine miles in length; but plantations of olives, mulberry and palms,
festooned with vines, mingled with the pastoral scenery, through with
the rapid Po, after its descent from the mountains, wandered to meet
the humble Doria at Turin. As they advanced towards this city, the Alps,
seen at some distance, began to appear in all their awful sublimity;
chain rising over chain in long succession, their higher points darkened
by the hovering clouds, sometimes hid, and at others seen shooting up
far above them; while their lower steeps, broken into fantastic forms,
were touched with blue and purplish tints, which, as they changed in
light and shade, seemed to open new scenes to the eye. To the east
stretched the plains of Lombardy, with the towers of Turin rising at a
distance; and beyond, the Apennines, bounding the horizon.

The general magnificence of that city, with its vistas of churches and
palaces, branching from the grand square, each opening to a landscape of
the distant Alps or Apennines, was not only such as Emily had never seen
in France, but such as she had never imagined.

Montoni, who had been often at Turin, and cared little about vie