X
RANCONEZZO
Interior of the Duomo
FROM "A LEGEND OF BRITTANY"
Deeper and deeper shudders shook the air,
As the huge bass kept gathering heavily,
Like thunder when it rouses in its lair,
And with its hoarse growl shakes the low-hung sky,
It grew up like a darkness everywhere,
Filling the vast cathedral;—suddenly
From the dense mass a boy's clear treble broke
Like lightning, and the full-toned choir awoke.
Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant,
Brimming the church with gold and purple mist.
Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant,
Where fifty voices in one strand did twist
Their varicolored tones and left no want
To the delighted soul, which sank abyssed
In the warm music cloud, while, far below,
The organ heaved its surges to and fro.
James Russell Lowell.
THE VILLA
Our villa ...
... lies on the slope of the Alban hill;
Lifting its white face, sunny and still,
Out of the olives' pale gray green,
That, far away as the eye can go,
Stretch up behind it, row upon row.
There in the garden the cypresses, stirred
By the sifting winds, half musing talk,
And the cool, fresh, constant voice is heard
Of the fountain's spilling in every walk.
There stately the oleanders grow,
And one long gray wall is aglow
With golden oranges burning between
Their dark stiff leaves of sombre green.
And there are hedges all clipped and square,
As carven from blocks of malachite,
Where fountains keep spinning their threads of light
And statues whiten the shadow there.
And if the sun too fiercely shine,
And one would creep from its noonday glare,
There are galleries dark, where ilexes twine
Their branchy roofs above the head.
W. W. Story.
XI
RANCONEZZO
The Villa of the Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti