Full text: Hare, Augustus J. C.: Florence

GALILEO’S TOWER. 
201 
the old grey walls the long, soft, thick leaf of the arums grew, shading 
their yet unborn lilies. 
•The air was full of a dreamy fragrance : the bullocks went on their 
slow way with flowers in their leathern frontlets ; the contadini had 
flowers stuck behind their ears or in their waistbands ; women sat by 
the wayside, singing as they plaited their yellow curling lengths of straw; 
children frisked and tumbled like young rabbits under the budding 
maples ; the plum trees strewed the green landscape with flashes of 
white like newly-fallen snow on Alpine grass slopes ; again and again 
amongst the tender pallor of the olive woods there rose the beautiful 
flush of a rosy almond tree ; at every step the passer-by trod ankle-deep 
in violets. 
About the foot of the Tower of Galileo ivy and vervain, and the 
Madonna’s herb, and the white sexagons of the stars of Bethlehem 
grew amongst the grasses ; pigeons paced to and fro with pretty pride 
of plumage ; a dog slept on the flags ; the cool, moist, deep-veined 
creepers climbed about the stones ; there were peach trees in all the 
beauty of their blossoms, and everywhere about them were close-set 
olive trees, with the ground between them scarlet with the tulips and 
the wild rose bushes. 
•From a window a girl leaned out and hung a cage amongst the ivy 
leaves, that her bird might sing his vespers to the sun. 
•Who will may see the scene to-day. 
•T’he world has spoiled most of its places of pilgrimage, but the old 
Star Tower is not harmed as yet, where it stands amongst its quiet 
garden ways and grass-grown slopes, up high amongst the hills, with 
sounds of dripping water on its court, and wild wood-flowers thrusting 
their bright heads through its stones. It is as peaceful, as simple, as 
homely, as closely-girt with blossoming boughs and with tulip-crimsoned 
grasses now as then, when, from its roof, in the still midnight of far-off 
time, its master read the secrets of the stars.'—Pascarel. 
«Nearer we hail 
Thy sunny slope, Arcetri, sung of old 
For its green vine ; dearer to me, to most, 
As dwelt on by that great astronomer, 
Seven years a prisoner at the city-gate, 
Let in but in his grave clothes. Sacred be 
His villa (justly it was called the Gem) !! 
Sacred the lawn, where many a cypress threw 
Its length of shadow, while he watched the stars 
Sacred the vineyard, where, while yet his sight 
Glimmered, at blush of morn he dressed his vines, 
Chanting aloud in gaiety of heart 
Il Giojello.
	        
Waiting...

Note to user

Dear user,

In response to current developments in the web technology used by the Goobi viewer, the software no longer supports your browser.

Please use one of the following browsers to display this page correctly.

Thank you.

powered by Goobi viewer