'The Colosseum rose before us, serenely, calmly beautiful in the mournful moonlight, breathing a solemn monumental melancholy which was absolutely pathetic... As we strolled about the moonlight arcades, unspeakable hope and peace came into my soul. Angels seem to look down from the star-sown heavens, and the spirits of slaughtered saints to sanctify the scene of their martyrdom. Looking at the moon, clear and argentine as a silver mirror, the ills and troubles of this life faded away like a vain and troubled dream.'
Frances Eliot
