So dense was the foliage that we would not have been able to force
our way through it, and would not have dared to make the attempt, had
it not been for a sharply cut path which wound in leisurely curves and
undulations close to the river’s brink. It was not like one of those
paths which nature occasionally plans, or which are due to the tracks
of wild beasts, for it had a regularity of design and an evenness of
width that proved it to be unmistakably the work of man. Yet what man
could have penetrated before us into these uncanny sunless depths? At
the mere thought that others might have preceded us we involuntarily
shuddered; we were half convinced that we were intruders into a tomb
closed ages ago. But despite this conviction, we kept a constant,
half-terrified outlook for sign of human presence.
It was not long before our vigilance was rewarded. Abruptly the path
before us widened, until it was of the size of a broad highway; and
above the dense masses of vegetation, we beheld in astonishment the
looming marble pillars of a Grecian colonnade. Toward this the road
led in long and graceful curves; and it was but a few minutes before
we found ourselves at the entrance of a covered walk or “stoa” that
brought back to me vivid memories of “the glory that was Greece.” On
both sides of us the palely-tinted Ionic columns rose to a majestic
height, daintily ornamented at the base with the acanthus design, and
curving in symmetrical proportions that brought to mind the perfection
of the Parthenon; while the marble floor on which we walked and the
marble ceiling above us were frescoed with figures that seemed drawn
bodily from the romance of the ancient world. They were not wholly
Greek. I knew these pictures of sportive mermaids and lightning-hurling
gods and dragon-slaying heroes and misty caves of twilight and the
throbbing lyre; but there was something suggestively Greek about them
all; and steeped as I was in the lore of ancient Hellas, I had the
singular feeling that the hand of time had been turned backward two
thousand years or more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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