The sun his brightness kept; for unto them
The living men are naught, and naught the dead,
No more than snows that slide or stones that roll."
ENGLISH CHURCH, CHAMONIX.
Finally, these and all other dangers being past, the wearied but exultant climbers reach the summit of Mont Blanc,—that strangely silent, white, majestic dome, so pure and spotless in its lofty elevation beneath the stars. To watch this scene from the Vale of Chamonix, when the great sovereign of our solar system sinks from sight, leaving upon Mont Blanc his crown of gold, is an experience that will leave one only with one's life. The concentrated refulgence on that solitary dome is so intense that one is tempted to believe that the glory of a million sunsets, fading from all other summits of the Alps, has been caught and imprisoned here. We know that sun will rise again; but who, in such a place, can contemplate unmoved the death of Day?
"The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies,