The river was lighted up by the flames of the dying day, and in the distance the water looked smooth and glistening as if great spots of oil or bitumen were floating on it.

The Campagna, stretching away like an ocean of ruins, was of a uniform violet tint.

Nearer the town the sky flushed a deep crimson.
'Poor little thing!' murmured Elena in a tone of heartfelt compassion, and pressing closer to Andrea.
The wind had risen to a gale.

A flock of crows swept across the burning heavens, very high up, croaking hoarsely.
A sudden passionate exaltation suddenly filled the souls of the two at sight of this vast solitude.

Something tragic and heroic seemed to enter into their love and the hill-tops of their passion to catch the blaze of the stormy sunset.