THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD
THUS WE had accomplished about a half-part of our returning, when we came to a place where a steep hill rises from the road, and a path goeth up therefrom, passing through a thicket on the bank, and leading into a deep and gloomy wood. And in the midst of this brake is a tall beech-tree, and around it a space of smooth, short grass, the which is cool and green even in the thirstiest droughts of August. And as we drew near to this place we saw the flame of a fire burning therein, and suddenly came a strain of sweetly measured musick, like a nightingale singing, and we could hear voices speaking a foreign tongue. Then the flute (for such it was) hushed, and a violin began a low descant, but swelled and thrilled, and rose (it seemed) in lamentation; but changed anon to a solemn tune like church musick, with long sustained notes and ancient closes. Then a lute began its amorous song, and a tenor voice chimed in with it and sang so sweetly a love-song of Italy that each of us thought of his mistress and wished her at hand. But when this was finished they all began to talk again in their vowelled speech, and then we determined to send an ambassador to this company that, if they willed, we might hear something more of their art. So I got off my nag and began to climb the bank, making my way in and out among
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