But it
happened to me one day to mount the high grounds overhanging the
streets of Pera. I sated my eyes with the pomps of the city and
its crowded waters, and then I looked over where Scutari lay half
veiled in her mournful cypresses. I looked yet farther and higher,
and saw in the heavens a silvery cloud that stood fast and still
against the breeze: it was pure and dazzling white, as might be
the veil of Cytherea, yet touched with such fire, as though from
beneath the loving eyes of an immortal were shining through and
through. I knew the bearing, but had enormously misjudged its
distance and underrated its height, and so it was as a sign and a
testimony, almost as a call from the neglected gods, and now I saw
and acknowledged the snowy crown of the Mysian Olympus!
CHAPTER IV--THE TROAD
Methley recovered almost suddenly, and we determined to go through
the Troad together.
My comrade was a capital Grecian. It is true that his singular
mind so ordered and disposed his classic lore as to impress it with
something of an original and barbarous character--with an almost
Gothic quaintness, more properly belonging to a rich native ballad
than to the poetry of Hellas.
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