Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Kinnakulla.
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as on Madonna’s birthday feast in the times of
Popery. The young folks who have been
confirmed, have this day, on receiving the
sacrament for the first time, ornamented this old
image – nay, even set the priest’s name in
flowers upon the altar; and he has, to our
astonishment, let it remain there.
The image of Madonna seems to have become
young by the fresh wreaths, the fragrant flowers
here have a power like that of poetry – they
bring back the days of past centuries to our own
times. It is as if the extinguished glory around
the head shone again; the flowers exhale perfume:
it is as if incense again streamed through the
aisles of the church – it shines around the altar
as if the consecrated tapers were lighted – it is a
sunbeam through the window.
The sky without has become clear: we drive
again in under Cleven, the barren side of
Kinnakulla: it is a rocky wall, different from almost all
the others. The red stone blocks lie, strata on
strata, forming fortifications with embrasures,
projecting wings and round towers; but shaken,
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