CHAPTER XIV.
CONCLUSION.
"Where duty leads"—Resorts in the Eastern Pyrenees—Caen—"Riou"—Our paths diverge—"The Lesson of the Mountains"—Farewell.
Although we have in reality come to the end of our tour, and have consequently no more places to discourse on, it may be suggested that our task is but badly ended if we omit to mention such resorts as Amélie, Vernet, Molitg, and other spots, which, if of less importance than those we have visited, are nevertheless in the Pyrenees. That they are in the Pyrenees cannot be disputed, but being in the eastern portion, the way of reaching them from the resorts among the western heights is so roundabout, that but few people would think of visiting both. However, for the information of any intending travellers, we have collected what reliable facts we could about the above-mentioned places—as well as Capvern, Preste-les-Bains, Panticosa, and a few others—which will be found in the general information [Footnote: See Appendix A.] at the end of the volume, and will, we trust, be of service.
We have but little left us now to do but to take our leave, though we have one little incident to record, which, though it occurred far from the Pyrenees, resulted, nevertheless, from our visit.
Travelling slowly homeward by the route through Normandy to Cherbourg, we stopped a few days at the delightful town of Caen. While there—in consequence of negotiations that had been carried on for some time—Miss Blunt had her desires gratified by the arrival of a fine Pyrenean puppy—like a small white bear with brown points—from Cauterets, one of the identical pair about which we had such a lively scene with the old French fancier. He was christened "Riou," after the Col of that name, and his owner has very kindly drawn his portrait among his native hills, to adorn these pages.
[Illustration: "MY PAW IS ON MY NATIVE HEATH, AND MY NAME IS 'RIOU.'">[
Our party did not break up till we reached Weymouth, but after that our ways diverged. We were by no means glad to part, the memories of our trip being very pleasant ones, and we can hardly think of a more delightful way of spending a couple of months than in driving about these beautiful mountains. The people are so pleasant, and hotels so moderate (in the spring-time), and the country in the full beauty of spring is at its best; and yet, as a rule, the few English and Americans who do go, wait till the season begins, with its crowds, heat, and extra expense, and the fiery sun has effectually cleared the mountains of that snowy mantle which was their greatest charm.
We were once asked, "Are not the Pyrenees very bare mountains, without any trees or herbage?" We could only repeat, what we have so often asserted in this book, that the foliage on the mountain slopes is magnificent, and their fertility and wealth of flora are of the highest order.
They are indeed so beautiful in every way that they cannot fail to touch many a chord in the heart of any lover of nature. At one moment hid in mists, at another clear and stately under a cloudless sky; in winter, wrapped completely in their garb of snow, trees and grass and rocks and all, only to reappear under spring's influence, still retaining their snowy crown, but with their slopes bright with the contrasting tints of beech and fir, oak and maple, interspersed with banks of bright gentian and fields of golden daffodils; what could be more lovely than a scene such as this, with the morning sun gilding the snow summits, or the last rays of a roseate sunset lingeringly bidding them "Farewell"?
As we then follow their example, we do not think we could make a more fitting ending than these lines, written amid those lovely scenes, and entitled
"THE LESSON OF THE MOUNTAINS."
Look on yon mountain peaks,
Mark how each summit seeks
Upward to lift its crest, base earth to spurn.
Tow'ring above the plain,
Over the weak and vain,
Ever for realms of light seeming to yearn.
Look at each snowy crown,
Whiter than softest down,
Oh! in what majesty thus are they drest!
See how the setting sun
Kisses them one by one,
And slowly, solemnly, goes to his rest.
Look to the brilliant sky;
—Dark though the clouds be, nigh—
Wavelets of gold grandly float 'neath the blue.
Mark where the shades of green
Mingle with crimson's sheen,
Till evening's dread decree curtains the view.
Hark to the drenching rain!
Hark how it beats the pane!
While the fierce fitful blast sweeps on its course.
Fiercer yet swells the gale,
Hark to the long-drawn wail!
Tenfold more dire—in the darkness—its force.
* * * * *
See! morning's golden rays,
Breaking night's gloomy haze,
Tinge with a burning glow every proud height;
Storms beat on them in vain,
Steadfast they will remain,
Till the eternal day swallows up night.
* * * * *
So may thy soul aspire
Ever to climb up higher,
Spurning the world's delights, caring for none;
Shunning vain pomps and shows,
Seeking but calm repose
In the "Hereafter," when life is done.
[Illustration: "See! morning's golden rays, Breaking night's gloomy haze, Tinge with a burning glow every proud height.">[
So may'st thou yearn to wear,
Like ev'ry angel there,
Vestment as pure as snow, spotlessly white;
And on thy face to shine
That radiancy divine,
God's own unquenchable, immortal light.
[Illustration]
And, if life's courses seem
Pleasant, like some sweet dream,
Be thou beware of the evils around:
Paths seeming paved with gold
Oft mighty sins enfold,
Oft where the sea looks still, quicksands abound.
Or should the trials come,
Shatt'ring thy earthly home,
Dashing fond hopes and despoiling thy life:
Meekly thy burden bear
To Jesus' throne, and there
Thou wilt find rest and help—strength for the strife.
Then, when Heav'n's morning breaks,
And ev'ry soul forsakes
This baser earth, and flies to its last rest,
Chastened by cold and heat,
Wash'd by the storms that beat,
Oh, may thy spirit soar 'mid God's own blest!