XI. I love to linger on the Prado till the crowd is gone and the night far advanced. There musing and alone I sit, and listen to the lulling fall of waters in their marble fountains, and watch the moon as it rises over the gardens of the Retiro, brighter than a northern sun. The beautiful scene lies half in shadow, half in light, almost a fairy land. Occasionally the sound of a guitar, or a distant voice, breaks in upon my revery. Then the form of a monk, from the neighbouring convent, sweeps by me like a shadow, and disappears in the gloom of the leafy avenues; and far away from the streets of the city comes the voice of the watchman telling the midnight hour. Lovely art thou, O Night, beneath the skies of Spain. Day, panting with heat, and laden with a thousand cares, toils onward like a beast of burden; but Night, calm, silent, holy Night is a ministering angel that cools with its dewy breath the toil-heated brow; and, like the Roman sisterhood, stoops down to bathe the pilgrim's feet. How grateful is the starry twilight! How grateful the gentle radiance of the moon! How grateful the delicious coolness of "the omnipresent and deep-breathing air!" Lovely art thou, O Night, beneath the skies of Spain ! END OF VOL. I. OUTRE-MER; A PILGRIMAGE BEYOND THE SEA. I have passed manye landes and manye yles and contrees, and cherched manye fulle straunge places, and have ben in manye a full gode honourable companye. Now I am comen home to reste. And thus recordynge the time passed, I have fulfilled these thynges and putte hem wryten in this boke, as it Woulde come into my mynde.-SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE. |