Still, We Continued To Advance Toward Them Until Nightfall; And,
All Day Long, The Mountain Tops Presented Strangely Shifting
Shapes, As The Road Displayed Them In Different Points Of View.
The Beautiful Day Was Just Declining, When We Came Upon The Lago
Maggiore, With Its Lovely Islands.
For however fanciful and
fantastic the Isola Bella may be, and is, it still is beautiful.
Anything springing out of that blue water, with that scenery around
it, must be.
It was ten o'clock at night when we got to Domo d'Ossola, at the
foot of the Pass of the Simplon. But as the moon was shining
brightly, and there was not a cloud in the starlit sky, it was no
time for going to bed, or going anywhere but on. So, we got a
little carriage, after some delay, and began the ascent.
It was late in November; and the snow lying four or five feet thick
in the beaten road on the summit (in other parts the new drift was
already deep), the air was piercing cold. But, the serenity of the
night, and the grandeur of the road, with its impenetrable shadows,
and deep glooms, and its sudden turns into the shining of the moon
and its incessant roar of falling water, rendered the journey more
and more sublime at every step.
Soon leaving the calm Italian villages below us, sleeping in the
moonlight, the road began to wind among dark trees, and after a
time emerged upon a barer region, very steep and toilsome, where
the moon shone bright and high.
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