The scene was not terminated by
walls and espaliers, but by the entrance on either side of a wild,
meandring wood. The side by which you were introduced was protected by
trees of the thickest foliage; and the gate was masqued with a clump of
hazels and alders, which permitted only two narrow passages on either
side. The eye was shut in, but the imagination was permitted to range in
perfect freedom. Nor was this seeming confinement calculated to disgust;
on the contrary you willingly believed that every charm and every grace
was shut up in the circle, and you trembled lest the smallest outlet
should take off from the richness of the scene. In entering you were
struck with a sensation of coolness, that impervious shades, a bright
and animated verdure, flowers scattered here and there in agreeable
disorder, the prattling of the stream, and the song of a thousand birds,
impressed as strongly upon the imagination, as the senses. But this did
not appear the result of art. Every thing had the face of uncultivated
luxuriance, and impenetrable solitude. You could not believe that you
were not the first mortal that had ever found his way into the
enchanting desert.
The scene however had been solely produced by the skill of Rodogune.
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