Upon one spot on this plain I saw the richest clump of vegetation that I ever met with in my life, it was a small mound near the road-side, covered with dwarf aloes and arum; I made one of the seridjhes tear up a plant of the latter for me to examine, and it was perfectly gigantic; the blossom measured eighteen inches from the base of the calyx to the extremity of the petal; the colour was a deep, rich ruby, and the stem was five or six feet in height. I need scarcely add that the stench which it emitted was intolerable, and we were obliged to rub our hands with wild chamomile to rid ourselves of it.
The butterflies were small, sober-coloured, and scarce; but the birds which surrounded us were various and interesting—the bulfinch, the elegant black-cap, the nightingale, making the air vocal; and the cuckoo, whose sharp, quick note cut shrilly through the sweet song with which it could not assimilate—the skylark, revelling in light, and drinking in the sunshine—the partridge, half hidden amid the corn, or winging its way along the valley, kept us constant company; while the majestic storks sailed over our heads, with their long thin legs folded back, and their long thin necks stretched forward, steering themselves by their feet; or remained, gravely standing near the road-side, eyeing us as we passed with all the confidence of impunity.
After rising a tolerably steep hill, we descended into a plain of vast extent, through which brawled a rapid river crossed by a bridge of considerable span, wherein a herd of buffaloes were cooling themselves; some lying on their sides wallowing in the mud, and others standing up to their noses in water, and defying the fierce beams of a sun under which we were almost fainting. As I pulled up for an instant to observe them, a kingfisher darted from a clump of underwood overhanging the bank, glittering in the light, and looking as though it had pilfered the rainbow.
Having passed the plain, we again descended, and stopped mid-way of the mountain before a little hut of withered boughs, tenanted by a superb-looking Turk, who dispensed coffee and pipes to travellers; beside the hut a handsome fountain of white granite poured forth a copious stream of sparkling rock water: and on the other side of the road a very fine walnut tree overshadowed a bank covered with grass. Upon this bank the servant spread our mat; and, having removed the large flapping hats of leg-horn which we wore, we revelled in the dense shade and refreshing coolness; nor were we the only individuals to whom they had proved welcome, for a portion of the space was already occupied by a Turkish woman, whose husband was in the coffee-hut, and who accepted readily a part of our luncheon, although she could not partake of it with us, the presence of my father preventing the removal of her yashmac. I felt glad that she received the offer in the spirit in which it was made, for the Turks are so universally hospitable that my obligations to them on this score are weighty; and, singularly enough, this was the first occasion on which I had ever had an opportunity of returning the compliment.
We lingered on this sweet spot nearly an hour, and then, continuing our descent, and crossing a little stream at its foot, we clomb a lofty mountain, whence we looked down upon a scene of surpassing beauty. Before us towered a chain of rocks, whose peaks were clothed with snow; and beneath us spread a valley dotted with mulberry and walnut trees, green with corn and vineyards, and gay with scattered villages. At the base of the highest mountain lay Broussa, and even in the distance we could distinguish the gleaming out of the white buildings from among the dense foliage which embosomed them.
From this point a new feature of beauty was added to the landscape: fountains rose on all sides, the overflowing of whose basins had frequently worn a deep channel across the road, where the waters rushed glittering and brawling along. With the form of one of these fountains I was particularly struck; it was evidently of considerable antiquity, and was overshadowed by a majestic lime-tree, whose long branches stretched far across the road; but its source was dried, and it was rapidly falling to decay.
I hesitated for an instant whether I should sketch the fountain, or again lend to it for an instant the voice that it had lost. I decided on the latter alternative—and, seating myself upon the edge of the basin, I hastily scratched the following stanzas in my note-book.
THE DRIED-UP FOUNTAIN.
The emblem of a heart o’er-tried,
I stand amid the waste;