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'Et neq; jam color est misto candore rubori; Nec Vigor, et Vires, et quae modo visa placebant; Nec Corpus remanet ... Ov. 'Met. Lib. 3. There was as great a Change in the Hill of Mony Bags, and the Heaps of Mony, the former shrinking, and falling into so many empty Bags, that I now found not above a tenth part of them had been filled with Mony.
The face of my friend with the great Venetian name was like one of Giorgione's pictures, of that soft and mellow colorlessness that recalls the poet's line, "E smarrisce 'l bel volto in quel colore Che non è pallidezza, ma candore," or the Englishman's version of the same thought, "Her face, oh, call it fair, not pale!"
Et neque jam color est misto candore rubori; Nec vigor, et vires, et quae modo rise placebant; Nec corpus remanet . OVID, Met. iii. 491. Her spirits faint, Her blooming cheeks assume a pallid teint, And scarce her form remains.
'Tis said, that the light of the sun is not one continuous thing, but that he darts new rays so thick one upon another that we cannot perceive the intermission: "Largus enim liquidi fons luminis, aetherius sol, Irrigat assidue coelum candore recenti, Suppeditatque novo confestim lumine lumen." Just so the soul variously and imperceptibly darts out her passions.
Benoit of Palermo, also named Benoit of Santo Fratello, sometimes called The Holy Black, was a negro, and the son of a female slave. Roccho Pirro, author of the Sicilia Sacra, eulogizes him thus: "Nigro quidem corpore sed candore animi præclarisimus quem miraculis Deus contestatum esse voluit." "His body was black, but it pleased God to testify by miracles the whiteness of his soul."
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