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the Corso, the near eminence of Trinita de' Monti appeared like fairy work,
they were so silent, so peaceful, and so very fair. It was evening; and the
population of animals which still existed in this mighty city, had gone to
rest; there was no sound, save the murmur of its many fountains, whose soft
monotony was harmony to my soul. The knowledge that I was in Rome, soothed
me; that wondrous city, hardly more illustrious for its heroes and sages,
than for the power it exercised over the imaginations of men. I went to
rest that night; the eternal burning of my heart quenched,--my senses
tranquil.
The next morning I eagerly began my rambles in search of oblivion. I
ascended the many terraces of the garden of the Colonna Palace, under whose
roof I had been sleeping; and passing out from it at its summit, I found
myself on Monte Cavallo. The fountain sparkled in the sun; the obelisk
above pierced the clear dark-blue air. The statues on each side, the works,
as they are inscribed, of Phidias and Praxiteles, stood in undiminished
grandeur, representing Castor and Pollux, who with majestic power tamed the
rearing animal at their side. If those illustrious artists had in truth
chiselled these forms, how many passing generations had their giant
proportions outlived! and now they were viewed by the last of the species
they were sculptured to represent and deify. I had shrunk into
insignificance in my own eyes, as I considered the multitudinous beings
these stone demigods had outlived, but this after-thought restored me to
dignity in my own conception. The sight of the poetry eternized in these
statues, took the sting from the thought, arraying it only in poetic
ideality.
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