Full many other rivers cross those lands,
Some, from the eternal snows come pouring;
Some, roll around the chasms, in foaming bends;
Some, through the hills, a ragged highway boring,
Rush to the valleys, with an angry roaring,
And hurry onward to the ocean sands;
But many a cataract and runlet trickles
Down from the glaciers, making huge icicles.
We moved along by wooded peaks and crags,
Carvéd with images and hieroglyphs,