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its branches, as the weeping willow alone has
power to do – and what magnificently grand
oaks! The pine-trees themselves are mighty
trees, beautiful to the painter’s eye; splendid
green grass plains lie stretched before us, and
the fiord rolls its green, deep waters close past,
as if it were a river. Large ships with swelling
sails, the one high above the other, steamers and
boats, come and go in varied numbers.
Come! let us up to Byström’s villa; it lies on
the stony cliff up there, where, the large oak-trees
stand in their stubborn grandeur: we see
from here the whole tripartite city, Södermalm,
Nordmalm and the island with that huge palace.
It is delightful, the building here on this rock,
and the building stands, and that almost entirely
of marble, a "Casa santa d’Italia," as if borne
through the air here in the North. The walls
within are painted in the Pompeian style, but heavy:
there is nothing genial. Round about stand large
marble figures by Byström, which have not, however,
the soul of antiquity. Madonna is encumbered
by her heavy marble drapery, the girl with
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