Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.”
“What a vision of beauty!”
Such was the exclamation of Amabel, as for the first time she looked upon the deep blue Mediterranean.
The sun was just about to hide himself below the rim of the boundless mirror-like expanse of water, as the newly wedded pair seated themselves upon one of the house-tops of Cæsarea.
Their journey from Jerusalem had been taken by easy stages, and two hours before they had arrived at the new seaport which had been built by Herod the Great, and named for his imperial master at Rome.
Here, where threescore years before there had been but an insignificant fishing-town with no harbor, now stood the imposing capital of Judea, with a commerce of no mean proportions. Besides the spacious and pretentious Herodian palace, there was a temple dedicated to the “divine Cæsar,” a theatre, amphitheatre, and other public buildings, which gave it the aspect of a metropolis. The harbor had been artificially constructed at [pg 246]enormous expense by Roman skill and enterprise under Herod’s direction. He caused immense blocks of stone to be brought from a long distance, and sunk to the depth of twenty fathoms, forming a semi-circular mole, protected from the south and west, with a narrow entrance on the north, within which ships could find secure anchorage and refuge.
The strong hand of Rome reached out in every direction during the days of her imperial greatness, and her works, marvellous in their extent and solidity, reached almost to the “ends of the earth.” Far outlasting the conquests of her panoplied legions and the sweep of her civil authority, her massive bridges, roads, harbors, palaces, and towers formed enduring monuments of a material greatness, unique in human history. What might she not have accomplished had not corruption, sensuality, and cruelty, like gnawing worms, eaten out her very heart and life, leaving her a gilded sepulchre?
Absorbed by the picturesque charm and unwonted variety of the scenery about them, Serenus and Amabel sat for some time silent, while feasting their souls upon its richness. Behind them, to the north and east, were the green, wide-stretching slopes of Mount Carmel, with vineyards and olive-groves, softened by a purple haze which seemed like a mystical benediction—the parting gift of day.