offensive sound, winds
His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.* (* Collins. [A. R.])
The travellers crossed the Arno by moon-light, at a ferry, and, learning
that Pisa was distant only a few miles down the river, they wished to
have proceeded thither in a boat, but, as none could be procured, they
set out on their wearied horses for that city. As they approached it,
the vale expanded into a plain, variegated with vineyards, corn, olives
and mulberry groves; but it was late, before they reached its gates,
where Emily was surprised to hear the busy sound of footsteps and the
tones of musical instruments, as well as to see the lively groups, that
filled the streets, and she almost fancied herself again at Venice;
but here was no moon-light sea--no gay gondolas, dashing the waves,--no
PALLADIAN palaces, to throw enchantment over the fancy and lead it into
the wilds of fairy story.
The Arno rolled through the town, but no music
trembled from balconies over its waters; it gave only the busy voices
of sailors on board vessels just arrived from the Mediterranean;
the melancholy heaving of the anchor, and the shrill boatswain's
whistle;--sounds, which, since that period, have there sunk almost into
silence. They then served to remind Du Pont, that it was probable he
might hear of a vessel, sailing soon to France from this port, and thus
be spared the trouble of going to Leghorn. As soon as Emily had reached
the inn, he went therefore to the quay, to make his enquiries; but,
after all the endeavours of himself and Ludovico, they could hear of no
bark, destined immediately for France, and the travellers returned to
their resting-place. Here also, Du Pont endeavoured to learn where his
regiment then lay, but could acquire no information concerning it. The
travellers retired early to rest, after the fatigues of this day;
and, on the following, rose early, and, without pausing to view the
celebrated antiquities of the place, or the wonders of its hanging
tower, pursued their journey in the cooler hours, through a charming
country, rich with wine, and corn and oil. The Apennines, no longer
awful, or even grand, here softened into the beauty of sylvan and
pastoral landscape; and Emily, as she descended them, looked down
delighted on Leghorn, and its spacious bay, filled with vessels, and
crowned with these beautiful hills.
She was no less surprised and amused, on entering this town, to find
it crowded with persons in the dresses of all nations; a scene, which
reminded her of a Venetian masquerade, such as she had witnessed at the
time of the Carnival; but here, was bustle, without gaiety, and noise
instead of music, while elegance was to be looked for only in the waving
outlines of the surrounding hills.