Canto I.
Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits,
Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth, Come, let us go,--to
a land wherein gods of the old time wandered, Where every breath
even now changes to ether divine. Come, let us go; though withal a voice
whisper, \'The world that we live in, Whithersoever we turn, still is the
same narrow crib; \'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we
travel; Let who would \'scape and be free go to his chamber and think;
\'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser; \'Tis but to
go and have been.\'--Come, little bark! let us go.
I. Claude to Eustace.
Dear Eustatio, I write that you may write me an answer, Or at the least
to put us again en rapport with each other. Rome disappoints me much,--St
Peter\'s, perhaps, in especial; Only the Arch of Titus and view from the
Lateran please me: This, however, perhaps is the weather, which truly is
horrid. Greece must be better, surely; and yet I am feeling so spiteful, That
I could travel to Athens, to Delphi, and Troy, and Mount Sinai, Though but
to see with my eyes that these are vanity also. Rome disappoints me
much; I hardly as yet understand it, but RUBBISHY seems the word that
most exactly would suit it. All the foolish destructions, and all the sillier
savings, All the incongruous things of past incompatible ages, Seem to be
treasured up here to make fools of present and future. Would to Heaven
the old Goths had made a cleaner sweep of it!