All
was strange and wild as the tempest itself.
On the Sabbath day, November 5th, the eyes of the voyagers were greeted
with a view of that noble monument which rises from the blue waters of the
Mediterranean-the Rock of Gibraltar. They looked upon it as the rising sun
glanced lines of light all around it and painted it with gorgeous beauty,
making even its very barrenness appear, attractive.
Whoever has sailed along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea will remember
the many objects of interest which present themselves on every side. There
are seen convents which have stood for ages, braving change and time, from
whose turrets the vesper bell has sounded forth over the waters, calling
the ghostly father and the young recluse from the cell and the cloister to
mingle in the devotions imposed by the Holy Mother Church; castles frowning
from bare and beaten rocks, reminding one of other days, when feudal strife
and knightly warfare demanded such monuments of barbarism to prove that
"might makes right;" beautiful gondolas, with richly-dressed Orientals,
manned with slaves, and propelled by the broad, flat paddle, reminding one
of the songs which cast their witchery around the knights of yore, and from
the blue bosom of the sea gave back the melodious echo; the highlands,
clad in beauty and arrayed in all the verdure of perpetual summer; villas
standing amid groves of trees in full blossom, and cultivated slopes
which extend to the very billows of the sea; ruined temples, monasteries,
convents, cathedrals, standing like some relics of the past, fit emblems of
the decaying faith once taught within them.
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