Wherever the train stopped, that sea-music was in my ears--now seeming to echo a verse of Homer, now the softer rhythm of Theocritus.

Think of what one may in day-time on this far southern shore, its nights are sacred to the poets of Hellas.

In rounding Cape Spartivento, I strained my eyes through the moonlight--unhappily a waning moon, which had shone with full orb the evening I ascended to Catanzaro--to see the Sicilian mountains; at length they stood up darkly against the paler night.

There came back to my memory a voyage at glorious sunrise, years ago, when I passed through the Straits of Messina, and all day long gazed at Etna, until its cone, solitary upon the horizon, shone faint and far in the glow of evening--the morrow to bring me a first sight of Greece..