“Where ends our dark, uncertain travel;
Where lie those happy hills and meadows low,”
there would be no flinching nor bemoaning, but that bravely and unmurmuringly they would depart. The charm of the unexplored, of the sombre forests, of the beautiful rivers, and of the giant mountains seemed to beckon them on—on to unknown graves.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST CROSSING OF MOUNT COOK
“From depth to height, from height to loftier height
The climber sets his foot and sets his face,
Tracks lingering sunbeams to their resting-place,
And counts the last pulsations of the light: