the monuments of man’s power, nature asserted her ascendancy, and shone more beauteous from the contrast.  The radiant waters hardly trembled, while the rippling waves made many sided mirrors to the sun; the blue immensity, seen beyond Lido, stretched far, unspecked by boat, so tranquil, so lovely, that it seemed to invite us to quit the land strewn with ruins, and to seek refuge from sorrow and fear on its placid extent.

We saw the ruins of this hapless city from the height of the tower of San Marco, immediately under us, and turned with sickening hearts to the sea, which, though it be a grave, rears no monument, discloses no ruin.  Evening had come apace.  The sun set in calm majesty behind the misty summits of the Apennines, and its golden and roseate hues painted the mountains of the opposite shore.  “That land,” said Adrian, “tinged with the last glories of the day, is Greece.”  Greece!  The sound had a responsive chord in the bosom of Clara.  She vehemently reminded us that we had promised to take her once again to Greece, to the tomb of her parents.  Why go to Rome? what should we do at Rome?  We might take one of the many vessels to be found here, embark in it, and steer right for Albania.

I objected the dangers of ocean, and the distance of the mountains we saw, from Athens; a distance which, from the savage uncultivation of the country, was almost impassable.  Adrian, who was delighted with Clara’s proposal, obviated these objections.  The season was favourable; the north-west that blew would take us transversely across the gulph; and then we might find, in some abandoned port, a light Greek caique, adapted for such navigation, and run down the coast of the Morea, and, passing over the Isthmus of Corinth, without much land-travelling or fatigue, find ourselves at Athens.  This appeared to me wild talk; but the sea, glowing with a thousand purple hues, looked so brilliant and safe; my beloved companions were so earnest, so determined, that, when Adrian said, “Well, though it is not exactly what you wish, yet consent, to please me”—­I could no longer refuse.  That evening we selected a vessel, whose size just seemed fitted for our enterprize; we bent the sails and put the rigging in order, and reposing that night in one of the city’s thousand palaces, agreed to embark at sunrise the following morning.

  When winds that move not its calm surface, sweep
  The azure sea, I love the land no more;
  The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep
  Tempt my unquiet mind—­

Thus said Adrian, quoting a translation of Moschus’s poem, as in the clear morning light, we rowed over the Laguna, past Lido, into the open sea—­I would have added in continuation,

  But when the roar
  Of ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam
  Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst—­