DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.786#0227
CHAPTER XLII.
THE MAREMMA. ■
Guarda, mi disse, al mare ; e vidi plana
Cogli altri colli la Marema tutta,
Dilectivole molto, e poco sana.
Ivi e Massa, Grossetto, e la distructa
Civita vechia, e ivi Popolonia,
Che apenna pare tanto e mal conduta.
Ivi e ancor ove fae la Sendonia.
Queste cita e altre chio non dico,
Sono per la Marema en verso Roma,
Famose e grandi per lo tempo antieo.
Faccio degli Uberti.
The green Maremma !—
A sun-bright waste of beauty—yet an air
Of brooding sadness o'er the scene is shed ;
No human footstep tracks the lone domain—
The desert of luxuriance glows in vain.
Hemans.
These lines of Mrs. Hemans present a true summer
picture of the Tuscan Maremma ; and such is the idea
generally conceived of it at all seasons alike by most Eng-
lishmen, except as regards its beauty. For few have a
notion that it is other than a desert seashore swamp,
totally without interest, save as a preserve of wild boars
and roe-bucks, without the picturesque, or antiquities, or
good accommodation, or anything else to compensate for
the dangers of its fever-fraught atmosphere—in short,
" A wild and melancholy waste
Of putrid marshes,"
as desolate and perilous as the Pomptine. They know not
THE MAREMMA. ■
Guarda, mi disse, al mare ; e vidi plana
Cogli altri colli la Marema tutta,
Dilectivole molto, e poco sana.
Ivi e Massa, Grossetto, e la distructa
Civita vechia, e ivi Popolonia,
Che apenna pare tanto e mal conduta.
Ivi e ancor ove fae la Sendonia.
Queste cita e altre chio non dico,
Sono per la Marema en verso Roma,
Famose e grandi per lo tempo antieo.
Faccio degli Uberti.
The green Maremma !—
A sun-bright waste of beauty—yet an air
Of brooding sadness o'er the scene is shed ;
No human footstep tracks the lone domain—
The desert of luxuriance glows in vain.
Hemans.
These lines of Mrs. Hemans present a true summer
picture of the Tuscan Maremma ; and such is the idea
generally conceived of it at all seasons alike by most Eng-
lishmen, except as regards its beauty. For few have a
notion that it is other than a desert seashore swamp,
totally without interest, save as a preserve of wild boars
and roe-bucks, without the picturesque, or antiquities, or
good accommodation, or anything else to compensate for
the dangers of its fever-fraught atmosphere—in short,
" A wild and melancholy waste
Of putrid marshes,"
as desolate and perilous as the Pomptine. They know not