The chilly
night winds of the peninsula have gone to sleep. Here, even in
midwinter, the sun at this hour shoots down scorching rays upon your
head. Seat yourself by the road-side, on this ledge of slate-rock, at
the foot of the cork-oak, which so invitingly spreads out its
sheltering arms. Here while you take breath, cast your eyes around
you.
You are no longer in the midst of broken, desolate wastes. To the
south-west rises the Serra d'Ossa--its sides clothed with evergreen
oaks, and a dense growth of underbrush sheltering the wolf and the
wild boar, while the northern slope of its rocky ridge is thatched
with snow. Before you is spread out the valley of the Guadiana.
Sloping downward toward the mighty stream, lie pasture, grove and
field, gaily mingled together. There, to the east, sits Elvas, on a
lofty hill, whose sides are covered with vineyards, oliveyards and
orchards, and just north of it, on a yet loftier peak, with a deep
narrow valley lying between them, stands the crowning castle of La
Lippe, the strongest fortress in Portugal. Far beyond, but plainly
seen through the clear atmosphere of the peninsula, now doubly
transparent since it has been purified by the heavy rains which here
usher in the winter, rises the blue mountain of Albuquerque, far away
in Spanish Estremadura.
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