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Once more imagination plants trim orange-trees in giant jars of Gubbio ware upon the pavement where the garden of the Duchess lay the pavement paced in these bad days by convicts in grey canvas jackets that pavement where Monsignor Bembo courted "dear dead women" with Platonic phrase, smothering the Menta of his natural man in lettuce culled from Academe and thyme of Mount Hymettus.
No one coughed, or stirred, or scraped a chair-leg. It was as though a sound would have wounded the flower. All those human souls bowed themselves. Almost a light shone upon them . . . a phrase from Dante came to Marise's mind . . . "la mia menta fu percossa da un fulgore . . ."
Quis procul ille autem, ramis insignis olivae Sacra ferens? Nosco crines incanaque menta Regis Romani. But who is he, conspicuous from afar, With olive boughs, that doth his offerings bear? By the white hair and beard I know him plain, The Roman king. Shortly thereafter was he adopted by Trajan, and succeeded to him in the empire.
Only this doth convey some Shew with it, that, now some Hundred Years, there was a Knight of Wales who with Shipping, and some pretty Company did go to discover these parts, whereof, as there is some record of reasonable Credit amongst the Monuments of Wales, so there is nothing which giveth pregnant Shew thereunto, that in the late Navigations of some of our Menta Norumbega, and some other northern parts of America they found some tokens of Civility and Christian Religion; but especially they do meet with some Words of the Welsh Language, as that a Bird with a white Head should be called Penguinn, and other such like; yet because we have now invincible certainty thereof, and if any thing were done, it was only in the Northern and worse part, and the Intercourse between Wales and those parts in the space of 700 Years, was not continued, but quite silenced, we may go forward with that opinion that these Western Indies were no way known to former ages."
Once more imagination plants trim orange-trees in giant jars of Gubbio ware upon the pavement where the garden of the Duchess lay the pavement paced in these bad days by convicts in grey canvas jackets that pavement where Monsignor Bombo courted 'dear dead women' with Platonic phrase, smothering the Menta of his natural man in lettuce culled from Academe and thyme of Mount Hymettus.
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