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National Geographic : 1915 Jun
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VOL. XXVII, No. 6 WASHINGTON JUNE, 1915 D[Z]E A AIH (D 7 FRONTIER CITIES OF ITALY BY FLORENCE CRAIG ALBRECHT AUTHOR or "AUSTRO-ITALIAN FRONTIERS," "MUNSTER-THE TOWN OF MANY GABLES," AND "THE CITY OF JACQUELINE," IN THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE Illustrationsfrom photographs by Emil Poole Albrecht Italia, Italia, O tu cui feo la sorte Dono infelice di bellezza, onde hai Funesta dote d'infiniti guai, Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte; O fossi tu men bella, o almen pii forte, Onde assai piu ti paventasse, o assai Ti amasse men chi del tuo bello ai rai Par che si strugga e pur ti sfida a morte! Che or giu dalle Alpi non vedrei torrenti Scender d'armati, ne di sangue tinta Bever l'onda del Po gallici armenti. Ne te vedrei del non tuo ferro cinta Pugnar col braccio di straniere genti, Per servir sempre, o vincitrice, o vinta. Vincenzo Filicaia, 1642-1707. T OTHE great plain of northern Italy, the basin of the River Po, which stretches from the Alps to the Apennines, from Saluzzo to the Adri atic, Genoa la Superba does not belong. The little strip of coast land between the Maritime Alps, the Apennines, and the sea, stretching from Nice to Spezia, the Liguria of ancient days, the Riviera of our own, is ridged by spurs and branches of the great mountain chains to the Italia, Italia, O thou to whom fate gave The unhappy gift of beauty, so that thou A funest dowry of infinite woes must bear All on thy forehead written by great grief; O wert thou but less lovely or more strong, So that thou mightest be more feared or less beloved By those who in the beauty of thy radiance fain would bask And then all suddenly challenge thee to death! That from the Alps descending no more shouldst thou see Torrents of warriors; nor should vast Gallic hordes Drink more the blood-tinted waters of the Po. Nor shouldst be seen again thee, in foreign armor girded, Battling with aid of hireling stranger peoples, Only to serve them ever, conquering or con quered. A literal translation. For metrical one see Byron's Childe Harold. northward; its level places are but floors of steep, narrow valleys or meadows at river mouths. But Genoa is such a charm ing gateway into northern Italy that one may not ignore it nor press too hastily up into that fair land beyond. Rivals in loveliness she has-Naples close at home, Constantinople, Hong kong-but superbly indifferent she sits upon terrace above terrace, encircling her close port, looking far out over the
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