Nam subito collapsa ruit, cum mole sub illa Gestatus bijugis Regulus esset equis. Another name equally dear to history, and connected with a catastrophe not less melancholy, was recalled to our memory in crossing the Fiume Magliano, so designated from an estate which is said to have been possessed by Manlius Capitolinus, and through which it ran. The spot is now comparatively a waste, as is nearly the whole of the country which we traversed between the Ponte Mammolo and the Ponte Lucano, a space of ten miles. But even that which is a perfect wilderness to the eye, has charms for the imagination, when it offers at every mile some object which has been recorded in history, or immortalised in song. On one ridge that we ascended, was fought the battle against the Latins, in which that warlike people were defeated by Ancus Martius, and taught to respect the character of a prince, whose forbearance was owing to his policy, and not to his fears: on another we were reminded of the chastisement which the Consul Servilius inflicted on the Æqui, who had crossed the Anio, and were marching forwards to Rome, in all the confidence of recent success. The ruins of castles, built to check the incursions of Ricimer and Odoacer, spoke of some of the most calamitous periods of later Roman history; and the remains of villas proclaimed that the prosperity of imperial and pontifical Rome is gone for ever. Anxious as we were to make our pilgrimage to the spot which is consecrated to the memory of our illustrious poet, we could not pass unnoticed the scene which another has enveloped in all the mystery and horror of supernatural visitation. The lake where Virgil sent Latinus to consult the oracle of Faunus, and where the king saw monstrous sights, heard strange voices, and received an ominous foreboding of the revolutions which threatened his country, still exists; but the description of the poet is no longer to be traced, except in its pestilential stench, and bituminous exhalations. -Nemorum quæ maxima sacro Fonte sonat, sævamque exhalat opaca mephitim. Æn. vii. 83. 84. The Lago della Solfatara, or Lake of the Floating Islands, so called from the different deposits that swim on the surface, is supposed to be of great depth, but is not more than a mile in circumference. To the naturalist, this pool, and that of Tartarus not far from it, are still objects of considerable interest; but there is nothing left of the gloomy or the solemn, which can inspire religious awe, or explain the terrors which it was wont to excite. A dreary but not a fearful waste surrounds it; and the groves are gone, which were alone capable of rendering it the scene of serious contemplation. The sulphureous streamlet which the traveller recognises by its effluvia, long before he approaches it, is another of the won ders that attract attention on the road to Tivoli. The color of the water is a bluish white-it infects the air far and wide with its stench, and instantly changes the appearance of any metal that is dipped in it. A silver coin upon which I tried the experiment came out quite discolored. The change of scenery is delightful after crossing the Ponte Lucano; the barren country is left behind, and the woods and vineyards of Tivoli break upon the view in delicious contrast with the desert that you have been obliged to traverse before you can arrive at them. Tivoli has still all the charms of situation and production, all the amenity of climate which the bards of ancient Rome were so fond of describing and to our eyes, as we ascended the hill that conducted to the town, the brilliancy and variety which were displayed, as the rays of the sun fell upon different objects, exceeded all that the fancy could have depictured. But Tivoli has so many natural beauties, so many remains of antiquity, so many spots that are hallowed by the recollection of names that stand high in the scrolls of classical celebrity, that it would be in vain to endeavor to select those which are most strikingly worthy of mention. It is enough to say that every image which Horace had brought in array before me, in those of his odes which speak of the scenery of Tibur, were found to be the faithful representations of a real landscape.-It matters not where the poet meant to place his "domus Albuneæ resonantis." The rush of waters, whether from the "Gran laduta del Fiume Anieni," or from the numberless "Cascatelle di Tivoli," from the great cataract, or from the smaller cascades, is heard in every direction. The præceps Anio is no where precipitated with such violent rapidity-the "lucus Tiburni," or groves of Tivoli, are seen waving their rich foliage over glen and valley-and the "uda mobilibus pomaria rivis" are yet recognised in orchards watered and refreshed by rills, that are conducted from the bills, with all possible industry and ingenuity. From the villa of Mecænas I enjoyed a iong and earnest survey of the Campagna of Rome, spread like a map beneath my feet, of Rome also itself, and its yet magnificent palaces, and of every object which the bard supposes to have offered so many attrac tions to his patron, and from the contemplation of which he attempted to invite him to his humble habitation at the foot of Lucretilis. To that spot I was now bending my way, after having feasted my eye with the picture which my imagination had so frequently drawn. Ne semper udum Tibur et Æsulæ Fastidiosam desere copiam, et Omitte mirari beatæ Fumum et opes, strepitumque Romæ. Odes: B. 3. Od. 29. Oh Rome! thou time honored city! surely thy destinies are so fixed, that the revolutions of ages cannot render thee otherwise than the veneration of mankind.-The wilderness that surrounds thee, the Campagna shorn of its population, its villages and cities, become thy fallen, but not despised condition. The desolation and ruins which surround thee assert thine own eternity. Invaders and oppressors-barbarians-and despoilers have carried their ravages within thy very walls: but thy seven hills-thy yellow Tiber-are still triumphant over the hostility of the world: the gigantic masses that form thine amphitheatres-thine aqueducts-thine arches and thy temples defy the hand of spoliation, and thou remain est still enthroned amidst the relics of a hundred ages, because thy mighty constructions cannot be removed either by the rapacious or the despotic. As soon as we left Tivoli, and proceeded upon the Via Valeria, we considered ourselves as fairly embarked for the Sabine Farm. The champaign country, and the grand route to Tivoli, which nobody could miss, were succeeded by a mountainous region, and a road which required more and more attention to its intricacies, the further we advanced. While we could trace any of the large masses which composed the fine old Valerian road, and as long as the Anio or Teverone was within sight or sound, there was no fear of losing our way; but we were fully apprised of the difficulties that would occur without a conductor, when we should get beyond these guides.' With anticipations such as an enthusiast may envy, and with fresh beauties of nature bursting upon us at every step, we crossed the bridge out of Tivoli; and at the gate of the town we saw a peasant girl, whose exquisitely beautiful face and figure more than realised our ideas of the charms, which inspired the poet's odes to Lalaga or Glycera. But the finer order of beauty is so uncommon among the peasantry of Italy, that the brilliant eyes of this young rustic, and her luxuriant form, which was just beginning to require more concealment than the scantiness of her ' Mountain scenery in Italy is far inferior in point of grandeur and sublimity to that in Switzerland; but it furnishes infinitely more food to the enthusiastic and romantic imagination. Climate-earth-airsky and water, combine to render the illusion complete. All nature is gay, enlivening, and lovely. Add to this the castellated walls-the ruined fortress-the tower that crowns every eminence-the solitary monastery-the paved road of twice told ten centuries-the sepulchral mounds-the villas and bridges, bearing names of bards or heroes with whom the mind has long been familiar, are objects which will not admit of fatigue or ennui. dress allowed, might well attract our attention. My companion was all exultation to hear my expression of admiration of this Sabine Venus; for it was rarely that I could be brought to confess that I saw much in the female mountaineers to extract rapturous commendation. The loveliness of the landscape beyond Tivoli must lose from any attempt at description. Horace might well feel such delight when he was setting out for his Sabine cottage. The Anio was to our right; the heights of Moute Catillo, with the crucifix upon its summit, to our left; and between the river and the mountain, on each side of our road a track of land richly cultivated, adorned with orchards in full blossom, vineyards trained to form festoons and bowers that invite repose, meadows rich in verdure, and enamelled with the gayest flowers of spring, and corn fields, just high enough out of the ground to wave to the breeze, and to throw those lights and shadows which are so beautiful, but confined to an undulating surface. Every turn in the road discovered new scenery a still loftier or more fantastic mountain ridge, a town more picturesque, a fortress more formidable from its position on a rocky and apparently inaccessible eminence, or a broken line of aqueduct which displayed more genius in the design, or more perseverance in the execution.-" What noble fellows those ancient Romans were! They deserved the mastery of the world!" Such exclamations as these burst from us at every league. Our map and collection of prints, which were quite as intelligent as any living guides could be, pointed out the situations of various sepulchres and villas, which are still called after names most celebrated in Latin records. We were directed to call one after the honored name of Valerius Maximus-to gaze upon another as the spot where the polite and learned Atticus passed many of his literary hours, the writer of those elegant epistles to Cicero, in which the history of the age is so beautifully introduced. "Here then," as we surveyed the wooded declivity on which the villa is said to have stood, "Here then," said we, "the brightest ornaments of their day used to assemble and discuss the literature or politics of their time-Cicero, Cornelius Nepos, Hortensius, and Pomponius himself, who is supposed to have acquired the surname of Atticus, from the fluency with which he spoke the sweet language of Athens." We rode up to some ruins, a little to the right of our road, and there an inscription, whose authority the antiquarians may dispute, but whose information was acceptable to tourists in search of classical relics, told us, that Syphax the captive king of Numidia ended his days. Among some of the most picturesque towns that crowned the mountain summits on the other side of the Anio, we noticed Saccomuro, Sassula, Madama, and Siciliano, as being peculiarly well situated to attract the traveller's eye. They seem to hang among the clouds, or to float in the air-built as they are upon projecting eminences. About half way between Tivoli and Vico-Vario, a most romantic spot tempted us to rein in our horses for a few minutes. A stone bridge is thrown over a torrent that rushes into the Anio; and here the Anio has all the character of a mountain stream celebrated in pastoral song. The channel is contracted, the banks ornamented with clusters of trees, whose bright foliage hangs over the currentthe water rushes over masses of stone, foaming, fretting, and roaring as a poet's stream ought to do. While we were admiring the meeting of the waters in this sweet vale, a party of English travellers on horseback accosted us on their return from Licenza to Tivoli. Upon inquiring about the road, they suggested the inconvenience and hazard of our passing the night among the mountains, and recommended us to hasten our pace, and by all means to visit the objects of our search and to return before night-fall. Our hesitation upon the subject was not decreased by hearing the words "Molti ladri" drop from one of their guides. We determined however to proceed, and to let circumstances direct our movements. About twenty minutes after we had left our countrymen, we overtook a strange looking cavalcade, whose singular appearance did not win our confidence. These were three horsemen well armed, with long guns each-cutlasses and pistols; and by their side ran seven or eight men also armed, in a wild sort of dress, which, though not military, was evidently meant for uniform.-Nothing could look more suspicious than the party; and every tale that had been told us of bands of banditti naturally occurred to our minds. We felt no doubt that we had fallen in with these dreaded brigands, and when they stopped and drew up on each side of a narrow bridge about thirty yards before us, our apprehensions were increased. We held a momentary council, not of war, but of flight. Shall we turn our horses' heads, and gallop for it? No, a shot from their long guns would soon reach us even if our steeds should have the speed of theirs. Our decision was made-we must advance with an air of confidence, and take our chance we did so; and as soon as we came up with the men upon the bridge, the party closed upon us without saying a word, and the horsemen as well as those on foot moved on at our pace. The aspect of things was more and more strange. If we accelerated our pace, the men who were mounted did the same, and the foot-men pressed on to be at no great distance. At last we accosted him who appeared to be the principal horseman.-We were far from being at our ease-and the dialogue was confined to the beauty of the country, and the names of the mountains or villages in sight. We asked no personal questions, nor did they. This continued till we reached Vico-Vario.-The three horsemen then turned to the left, at the entrance of the town, and we were left with the men on foot. We now thought we might make some inquiries. "Who are they |