CHAPTER VI.
NORTH TIROL—UNTERINNTHAL (RIGHT INN-BANK).
SCHWATZ.
The world is full of poetry unwrit;
Dew-woven nets that virgin hearts enthrall,
Darts of glad thought through infant brains that flit,
Hope and pursuit, loved bounds and fancies free—
Poor were our earth of these bereft....
Aubrey de Vere.
It is time now to return to speak of Schwatz, of which we caught a glimpse across the river as we left Viecht;[1] and it is one of the most interesting towns, and centres of excursions, in Tirol. It was a morning of bright promise which first brought us there by the early hour of 8.15. To achieve this we had had to rise betimes; it was near the end of August, when the mid-day sun is overpowering; yet the early mornings were very cool, and the brisk breezes came charged with a memory of snow from the beautiful chains of mountains whose base we were hugging. The railway station, as if it dared not with its modern innovation invade the rural retreat of primitive institutions, was at a considerable distance from the village, and we had a walk of some fifteen or twenty minutes before we came within reach of even a chance of breakfast.