DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61894#0445
Ch. XII. THROUGH ITALY. 415
tranquillity* might attract the living; yet it
seems to have been at all times abandoned to
the dead, and from the sepulchres that adorn it,
and the undisturbed repose that seems to reign
over it, it resembles a region secluded from the
intrusion of mortals, and placed above the in-
fluence of human vicissitude and agitation
Semota a nostris rebus sejunctaque longe.
Luc. i. 59.
The solitude of the’ place, its destination, and
the recollec'ion of Virgil’s description, diffuse a
certain melancholy over the mind, and dispose
it imperceptibly to reflection and musing.
Such are the Elysian fields, a name that
sounds so harmoniously to the ears of the classic
youth, and opens so many enchanting scenes to
his imagination. He will be disappointed ia
reading the description, and little less so in con-
templating the reality. In the splendor of a
Neapolitan firmament, he will seek in vain for
that purple light so delightful to his boyish
fancy; and on the sandy beach of the Mare
morto, he will discover no traces of the crystal
Eridanus; he will look to no purpose for mea-
dows ever green, rills always full, and banks
and hillocks of downy moss. The truth is,
Virgil improves and embellishes whatever he
1
tranquillity* might attract the living; yet it
seems to have been at all times abandoned to
the dead, and from the sepulchres that adorn it,
and the undisturbed repose that seems to reign
over it, it resembles a region secluded from the
intrusion of mortals, and placed above the in-
fluence of human vicissitude and agitation
Semota a nostris rebus sejunctaque longe.
Luc. i. 59.
The solitude of the’ place, its destination, and
the recollec'ion of Virgil’s description, diffuse a
certain melancholy over the mind, and dispose
it imperceptibly to reflection and musing.
Such are the Elysian fields, a name that
sounds so harmoniously to the ears of the classic
youth, and opens so many enchanting scenes to
his imagination. He will be disappointed ia
reading the description, and little less so in con-
templating the reality. In the splendor of a
Neapolitan firmament, he will seek in vain for
that purple light so delightful to his boyish
fancy; and on the sandy beach of the Mare
morto, he will discover no traces of the crystal
Eridanus; he will look to no purpose for mea-
dows ever green, rills always full, and banks
and hillocks of downy moss. The truth is,
Virgil improves and embellishes whatever he
1