In some
of the broad bays, the fleets of Europe might ride at anchor. In
every case, each little group of houses presents, in the distance,
some enchanting confusion of picturesque and fanciful shapes.
The road itself--now high above the glittering sea, which breaks
against the foot of the precipice: now turning inland to sweep the
shore of a bay: now crossing the stony bed of a mountain stream:
now low down on the beach: now winding among riven rocks of many
forms and colours: now chequered by a solitary ruined tower, one
of a chain of towers built, in old time, to protect the coast from
the invasions of the Barbary Corsairs--presents new beauties every
moment. When its own striking scenery is passed, and it trails on
through a long line of suburb, lying on the flat sea-shore, to
Genoa, then, the changing glimpses of that noble city and its
harbour, awaken a new source of interest; freshened by every huge,
unwieldy, half-inhabited old house in its outskirts: and coming to
its climax when the city gate is reached, and all Genoa with its
beautiful harbour, and neighbouring hills, bursts proudly on the
view.
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