( Originally Published Early 1900's )
ROME, with its sweeping Tyber, vast Campagna, and ancient monuments, " where noble names lie sleeping," even in adversity is grand and imposing. Who can sojourn in Rome, full of superb palaces and modern splendour, with a people of the race of those who conquered and enlightened the world,—who can remember it in after-years without mournful, yet pleasing recollections? who can forget that Rome was once mistress of the world, that her power was infinite, her dominion extending over all the habitable earth, her grasp reaching from the east unto the west? who that has drank of her fountains, and passed through her massive gates, can ever forget the signs of her former greatness? Her peasants sing, around her ruined walls, their evening-song of her fallen glory,
Roma, Roma, Roma, Non a pin come era prima.
But, still, it is a city dear and pleasing to all who think and feel. The remembrance of riches or power cannot create this affection; not Venice, with her floating palaces—nor Florence, with her eastern wealth—not Bussora, Bagdad, Palmyra, Memphis—not all the cities of the east, leave behind that pleasing melancholy, which strangers feel in visiting the desolate fields and lonely walls of Rome.