THE BEAUTIES, HARMONIES, AND SUBLIMITIES OF NATURE. BOOK X. CHAPTER I. "WHEN We enter into magnificent palaces," says Tully,—whose oratory never relapsed into a thrifty and sanguinary eloquence, as Tacitus1 strongly expresses it,—“ we are at first struck with the gilded roofs, the marble columns, the costly pavements, and all the other decorations of art. But when we have beheld them often, we are no longer charmed with them; and they make no impression of pleasure on the mind. Whereas, the prospect of the country never satiates us; it is, as it were, ever new, and every day puts on some fresh form to entertain and delight us." Who, that 1 Lucrosæ hujus et sanguinantis eloquentiæ. VOL. IV. Tacitus de Oratore. B takes pleasure in the cultivation of his shrubberies, has not an innate love of order and harmony, though opportunity, perhaps, has never been allowed for their cultivation? Who, that will stand for hours upon a precipice, and drink in rapture from the untouched scenes of Nature, has not the seeds of poesy planted in his mind? Who, that treads, with secret satisfaction, the spots, which the wise and the good have sanctified by their preference; and who, that delights to stand where the battles of former ages have been fought, would not,-were fortune to present the opportunity,-be the admiration of the world for their patriotism and inflexible constancy? In those, who are alive to interesting associations, and who are travelling in a picturesque country, how glowing are the emotions, produced by those reflections, which, in such scenes, naturally arise! When Dr. Moore beheld the rocks of Meillerie, he was visited by the most agreeable associations. As he gazed, he seemed to discover the very spot, on which St. Prieux looked through his telescope, to catch a glimpse of the house, which contained his idolized Julia. In imagination he traced the route, where he sprung from rock to rock, after one of her letters, which the wind had snatched from his hands. With the same delight, he observed the point, where they embarked to return to Clarens; when St. Prieux, in a fit of distraction, was tempted to seize the lovely Julia (then the wife of another), and precipitate both her and himself into the midst of the lake! II. Numerous are the resemblances, we mentally draw, between those spots, which fascinate us, as we travel on, and those that we have heard described, or seen delineated. In a tour, which La Rochefort made in the summer ****, among the most delightful scenes, of which this island can boast, many were the ideal resemblances, he fancied. This river reminded him of the Arno, or the Brenta; this mountain appeared to exhibit all the beauties of the Pyrenees, or the Appenines; that wood recalled to his memory the groves, which decorate the classic shores of the Po and the Mincio; this hamlet resembled that, of which Pliny gives so beautiful a description; and that villa Scipio's seat on the banks of the Tiber. These associations are peculiarly awakened on those spots, which have been the theatres of great events, or the abodes of eminent men. Something analogous to this Milton has embodied in the language of Adam; when the angel informs him, that the leaving the garden of Eden shall be the penalty of his disobedience. Adam, with melancholy feeling, anticipates the pleasure he should have enjoyed, in pointing out to his children the places, which had been sanctified by the presence of their great Creator. How far more delightful is it to contemplate the beneficence, than the cruelty of man! How much more interesting, are those scenes, on the banks of the Dee and the Clyde, on the plains of Devon, and on the Grampian mountains; now, that they are the abodes of the shepherd and the husbandman, than when the horn of the huntsman, and the trumpet of the warrior, were equal heralds of a bloody battle! When the French first beheld Moscow, they were delighted, beyond measure, at the beauty of the prospect, it presented to them. From the summit of the hill they saw a thousand gilded spires and steeples, which, reflecting the brilliancy of the sun, appeared like so many globes of fire. Moscow, standing in the midst of a fertile plain, through which winds the Moskwa; palaces, without number, surrounded with terraces; obelisks; gilt cupolas; the Kremlin and the towers of Iwan rising above the whole, seemed like enchantment. The French soldiers, enraptured at the view, shouted "Mosco!-Mosco!" with extravagant delight. But when they found that the Russians had set fire to their own city ;-when they saw even women applying firebrands to their own houses, and then hurrying away, as if alarmed at what they had done';-when they saw, that street after street presented 1 Labaume, Campagne de Russie, p. 198. Bourgois, Campagne de Moscou, p. 52. |