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My map showed me where we were, and with no small interest I discovered that the long line of heights guarding the bay on its southern side formed the Acroceraunian Promontory. A little town visible high up on the inner shore was the ancient Aulon. Here we anchored, and lay all day long.
"Vir ubi longum tepidusque præbet Jupiter brumas, et amicus Aulon, Fertili Baccho nimium Falernis Invidet uvis." Which translated means: En route, called on the Bey of Biscay. Found him in amiable temper not a bit rough. Lisbon delightful. Chatsworth not in it with the smallest flower-and-kitchen garden here. Dined at the "Brag" short for Braganza. Suddenly inspired wrote drinking song:
Brasidas now marched against this town, starting from Arne in Chalcidice. Arriving about dusk at Aulon and Bromiscus, where the lake of Bolbe runs into the sea, he supped there, and went on during the night.
That corner of the world smiles in my eye beyond all others; where the honey yields not to the Hymettian, and the olive rivals the verdant Venafrian: where the temperature of the air produces a long spring and mild winters, and Aulon friendly to the fruitful vine, envies not the Falernian grapes.
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