Narrative of a Journey to the Summit of Mont Blanc

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crown'd him long ago, On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
The account of the following journey was written a few days after its execution, while the author was confined to his chamber by the inconveniences he had suffered, and it was then penned for the gratification of his immediate friends, and without any view to publication. The partiality of friends, however, having permitted it, during his absence, to appear in the Analectic Magazine, for May 1820, it excited more attention than he could have anticipated, which has induced the author to correct the errors arising from haste and other sources, and to republish it in the present form.
Baltimore, April, 1821.
—————————— Above me are the Alps The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And thron'd Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow, All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.
Byron.
Geneva, July, 1819.
You, my dear friend, who are well acquainted from my infancy with my clambering disposition, which, within these few months, has carried me to the top of both Vesuvius and Ætna, will not be much surprised to learn, that I have attempted, with success, to mount to the summit of Mont Blanc; an aerial journey which the sight of this mountain has inspired many persons with a wish to accomplish; but in which few have engaged, and still fewer have succeeded. I am somewhat afraid that you will condemn the expedition as a wild one, and will justly consider the gratification of our curiosity, which was, unfortunately, the only object we attained, as an inadequate recompense for our toil and danger; but you have no cause to fear my embarking in similar adventures in future. Having reached a spot, undoubtedly the highest in Europe, and, with the exception of the Himalaya mountains in India, the highest in the Old World, my curiosity is completely gratified, and there is scarcely any possibility of my meeting with an enterprise of this nature, of sufficient magnitude to renew its excitement: since five of the loftiest of the Alleghanies piled on each other, would scarcely reach to the height I have attained. To give you a correct idea of the nature of our undertaking, I will begin with a concise account of this king of the Alps, and of the various attempts that have been made to reach its summit.