Is it changed so greatly since the sixth century of our era?
Or did its beauty lie in the eyes of Cassiodorus, who throughout his long life of statesmanship in the north never forgot this Bruttian home, and who sought peace at last amid the scenes of his childhood?
At windings of the way I frequently caught sight of Squillace itself, high and far, its white houses dull-gleaming against the lurid sky.

The crag on which it stands is higher than that of Catanzaro, but of softer ascent.

As we approached I sought for signs of a road that would lead us upward, but nothing of the sort could be discerned; presently I became aware that we were turning into a side valley, and, to all appearances, going quite away from the town.

The explanation was that the ascent lay on the further slope; we began at length to climb the back of the mountain, and here I noticed with a revival of hope that there was a lull in the tempest; rain no longer fell so heavily; the clouds seemed to be breaking apart.

A beam of sunshine would have set me singing with joy.