“Thou, Italy! so fair, that Paradise, Revived in thee, blooms forth to man restored; Ah! must the sons of Adam lose it twice? Thou, Italy I whose ever-golden fields, Plough’d by the sunbeams solely, would suffice For the world’s granary; thou, whose sky heaven gilds With brighter stars, and robes with deeper blue; Thou, in whose pleasant places summer builds Her palace, in whose cradle empire grew, And form’d the eternal city’s ornaments From spoils of kings whom freemen overthrew; Birth-place of heroes, sanctuary of saints, Where, earthly first, then heavenly glory made Her home; thou, all which fondest fancy paints, And finds her prior vision but pourtray’d In feeble colours, when the eye—from the Alp Of horrid snow, rock, and shaggy shade Of desert-loving pine, whose emerald scalp Nods to the storm—dilates, and dotes o’er thee.” We found the air on Mount Cenis particularly keen, and it failed not to produce a corresponding effect upon our appetites, nor was this to be wondered at, as we had now been travelling seven hours without breakfast. Our driver was, however, quite unwilling to indulge us with a quarter of an hour for the purpose of quieting these sensations; nor did we carry the point, until we insisted upon it peremptorily. After all, we could only get a hasty repast of tea and bread and butter; whereas we were strongly tempted by some beautiful trout, which had just arrived from out of a neighbouring lake of considerable size and unfathomable depth, situated in the centre of the plain. The plain of San Nicolo is about six miles in length, and four broad; and notwithstanding its great elevation, was at this time free from snow, and covered with flowers and verdure. It is encompassed on all sides by the Alpine ridges, the highest of which rises three thousand feet still above it, and is clothed with eternal snow. It was from the top of this plain that Hannibal is said to have pointed out the rich fields of Italy to his wearied army. At the distance of about a mile from the inn where we had taken refreshment, we arrived at a fort, within the walls of which stands the convent of Saint Bernard. We were detained here to have our passports examined. On the plain a considerable quantity of stone was lying on the road side, which was white as snow; my companions fancied it marble; it felt, however, to me of closer texture, and both heavier and harder than any marble I had ever met with; I carried off a piece, as a specimen, which proves to be a peculiarly hard sulphate of lime.