As I lingered here, there stirred in me something of that deep emotion which I felt years ago amid the temples of Paestum.

Of course, this obstructed fragment holds no claim to comparison with Paestum's unique glory, but here, as there, one is possessed by the pathos of immemorial desolation; amid a silence which the voice has no power to break, nature's eternal vitality triumphs over the greatness of forgotten men.
At a distance of some three miles from this temple there lies a little lake, or a large pond, which would empty itself into the sea but for a piled barrier of sand and shingle.

This was the harbour of Metapontum.
I passed the day in rambling and idling, and returned for a meal at the station just before train-time.

The weather could not have been more enjoyable; a soft breeze and cloudless blue.

For the last half-hour I lay in a hidden corner of the eucalyptus grove--trying to shape in fancy some figure of old Pythagoras.